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MAGGIE 


(p. 165.) 





Maggie Pollard’S Sacrifice. 



MIRIAM K. DAVIS. 

»v 



PHILADELPHIA : 

LUTHERAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY. 
1883. 



Copyright, 1883, 

BY THE 

LUTHERAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY. 




Westcott & Thomson, 
Siereotypers and Electrotypers, Philada, 


yo J^Y JVLother, 

WITH GRATEFUL RECOLLECTION OF WHAT HAS 
ENABLED ME TO WORK IN THIS WAY, 


I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. 




CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Maggie 7 

CHAPTER 11, 

- The Plan Revealed 16 

CHAPTER HI. 

Her Father’s Opinion • . . . 25 

CHAPTER IV. 

Persecution 32 

CHAPTER V. 

Trouble 40 

CHAPTER VI. 

Some Letters 47 

CHAPTER VIE 

Routine 55 

CHAPTER VHL 

A Revelation and a Surprise 63 

CHAPTER IX. 

Waiting . 74 

1 ♦ 5 


6 


CONTENTS. 


Her Decision 

CHAPTER X. 

PAG 3 

80 

Atonement . . 

CHAPTER XI. 

• 

Jack 

CHAPTER XII. 

Worried . . . 

CHAPTER XHI. 

Helping Jack. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Growth . . . 

CHAPTER XV. 

CHAPTER XVI. 


Jack Finishes his Model 142 


Alice 

CHAPTER XVH. 

156 

A Present . . 

CHAPTER XVHI. 
165 

Preparation . 

CHAPTER XIX. 

174 

Willie .... 

CHAPTER XX. 

A Change . . 

CHAPTER XXI. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A Missionary at Last 209 


Maggie Pollard’s Sacrifice. 


CHAPTER I. 
MAGGIE, 


O 


H, if I could only do something!” 

She rocked herself backward and 
forward upon the rug where she was sitting, 
her hands locked about her knees. Not a 
very dignified or lady-like position, you will 
say; but you must acknowledge it is com- 
fortable, before an open fire, at “ blind man’s 
holiday,” in the chilly November. She had 
not spoken aloud ; there was no one in the 
room but herself, and outside of the story- 
books soliloquies are silent. So she went 
on with her thoughts, still unspoken : 


8 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“ If it were ever so little ! I know what 
I’ll do.” Here her face brightened. “ I can 
give myself — my own life, my own plans and 
hopes and ambitions — even though I have 
nothing else to give ; and I will bend every 
energy toward preparing myself for the 
work. Let me see: how can I begin?” 

She looked into the fire, as if expecting 
to find the directions written there. Her face 
grew more thoughtful ; gradually it lost 
the triumphant expression which had come 
upon it. 

“There will be great difficulties,” whis- 
pered a voice — the voice of temptation, she 
said to herself, and answered : 

“Of course there will be difficulties. I 
know it cannot be otherwise; I have never 
expected anything else. I reckon I’ll talk 
it over with Ella just as soon as I can.” 

Rising from the floor, she stood a moment 
in front of the fire. A very pretty picture 


MAGGIE. 


9 


she made, too, as she stood there — ^just such 
a one as, perhaps, is often seen in your own 
home or in your next-door neighbor’s : a 
slight girlish figure, somewhat tall for fifteen 
years, but erect and graceful, carrying the 
pretty brown head with a sweet womanly 
dignity; brown-eyed, fair-faced, her cheeks 
flushed now with a tint that suggested wild 
roses, and caused by the heat of the fire or 
by her enthusiasm : I do not know which. 

As she turned to leave the room there was 
a door slammed, and a loud whistling was 
heard in the hall. Maggie had hardly had 
time to wonder what made Jack so fond of 
whistling in the house when the said Jack 
met her at the door. 

“Say, Peg,” was the young gentleman’s 
salutation, “ mother says come set the ta- 
ble. Sally ain’t done ironing yet.” 

“ I do wish you wouldn’t call me ‘ Peg,’ ” 
answered his sister, in no very amiable tone. 


10 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“And what does make you so rude? You 
slam the doors and whistle through the house 
as if — ” 

Words failed her. Her feelings found ho 
vent save by the uplifting of her nose — a 
mode of expression which I have not skill 
enough to transfer to the printed page. 

“I say, Peg, if I was you — “ 

“ If I wei^e you,” corrected Maggie, in her 
loftiest tone. 

If I was you,” went on Jack, defiant of 
both Maggie and grammar. “ If I was you, 
I wouldn’t turn up my nose so much. You’ve 
done it so often already that it’s a regular 
pug—” 

But Maggie had gone, and — alas for hu- 
man failings! — had slammed the door after 
her. 

“She’s a pretty one to lecture a fellow 
about slamming doors, she is ! If she hadn’t 
been in such an awful pucker. I’d a-told her 


MAGGIE. 


II 


that it was the parlor door blew shut and she 
must a-left it open herself. I didn’t slam the 
basement door.” 

“Jack!” called Maggie’s voice from the 
foot of the basement stairs.” 

“ Coming I” 

Jack’s lips puckered themselves up for a 
whistle, but before a sound had issued from 
them the owner carefully straightened them 
out. 

“ Mother wants to know if you’ve brought 
in a lump of coal for the sitting-room grate.” 

Such a very simple, every-day thing to say, 
but the tone said that Maggie was in such a 
bad humor ! 

“Yes, I have,” answered Jack, rather an- 
grily; and he wished that he had whistled. 

But he went back into the sitting-room 
without saying any more, intending to light 
the lamp. He gave the fire a vindictive 
poke, and by the light thus obtained began 


12 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


to hunt for a lamp-lighter, whistling softly 
meanwhile. There were none there. With 
an impatient exclamation, he looked at the 
match-safe : it was empty. 

“ Why don’t Peggy attend to her business, 
I’d like to know ? Badgers me as much about 
the coal as if she did everything to perfection. 
Here ! I’ll take a strip of this paper and he 
picked up a scrap of newspaper from the 
floor. 

By this time the blaze had died down 
again, and Jack resorted to his usual way 
of making a bright flame — a poke on the 
top of the fire. Finally he got the lamp 
lighted. I do not know why he wanted a 
light : surely he could stand with hands in 
his pockets and feet far apart and gaze in- 
tently into the fire without a student’s lamp 
blazing at his elbow; but he seemed to 
think otherwise. 

“Jack, I do wish you would keep your 


MAGGIE. 


13 


hands out of your pockets,” said Maggie, 
re-entering the room. 

“And I wish you would attend to your 
business, and not have a fellow hunting all 
over the floor for a piece of paper just be- 
cause you haven’t made any lamp-lighters 
or filled the match-safe.” 

Maggie had been busily searching among 
the wools that lay on the table, but, as it 
appeared, unsuccessfully. Turning upon her 
brother, she cried out, 

“What have you burned up. Jack?” 

“Just a strip of newspaper that I found on 
the floor.” 

“It’s Ella Clark’s balloon pattern, that I 
borrowed. Oh, Jack !” and she gathered up 
her work slowly in dismay. 

“ It couldn’t have been a balloon pattern, 
Peg; it was just a narrow strip of paper — 
not straight even.” 

“ Wasn’t it pointed at one end and curved 
2 


14 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


out from the point wider than the other 
end?” 

“ It was pointed, I know, for I stuck that 
end in the fire.” 

“ Oh, what shall I do about it. Jack? She 
just lent it to me, and Lottie Marlow wanted 
it to-morrow. That’s the most important 
part of the pattern, too. Anybody can cut 
the boat ; but — ” 

“ ril tell you what to do,” answered Jack, 
re-assuringly. 

“What?” asked Maggie, eagerly catching 
at the promise of a way out of the difficulty. 

“ Keep plenty of lamp-lighters and matches 
here, and don’t let your patterns lie around 
on—” 

“ Jack !” 

“ Now, Peg, don’t get mad, but how was I 
to know it was of any use to anybody ? If 
I’d a-known, of course I wouldn’t a-done 
it.” 


MAGGIE. 


15 

Maggie lay awake a long time that night 
thinking over the plan which had suggested 
itself to her that evening. 

“ But I have such trifles to take up my 
time !” she thought, despondently. “ There’s 
the table to set, and the baby to mind, and so 
many little things that don’t amount to a row 
of pins when they are done.” 

But she went to sleep before she thought 
of the effect that such a way of thinking about 
these same petty duties was having upon her. 
Perhaps she dreamed about it. I hope she 
dreamed that constant yielding to little 
temptations unfitted her for earnest Chris- 
tian work more . than the time, spent in 
minding the baby interfered with larger 
duties. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE PLAN REVEALED. 

AGGIE went to school the next day, 



..VX as usual. It is hardly necessary to 
say this, for she always went to school when 
there was not a holiday ; but to Maggie her- 
self it seemed most extraordinary that every- 
thing should go on as usual with her, when 
there was to be such a total change in her 
mode of life — some time. Not that she was 
going to change herself then. No; now, 
“ while it is called to-day,” she was resolved 
that the change should take place ; but when 
she was older, stronger in body to bear the 
labor and privation and exposure, stronger in 
mind to teach and plan and execute, stronger 
in spirit to live always, to comfort and coun- 


THE PLAN REVEALED. 


17 

sel, then the sacrifice would be consurtimated, 
then the outer life would be changed. 

Maggie was so busy that day thinking over 
that change and the direct preparation for it 
that she did not have much time left for her 
lessons. To be sure, all her examples were 
worked, for she always made a point of that 
and would not fail now; but some of the 
statements of the problems were twisted 
about in such an extraordinary manner that 
the algebra teacher looked at her in dismay. 
Some of the class were rather gifted in the 
direction of making nonsense out of every- 
thing, but Maggie was generally clear- 
headed. In her physiology and chemistry 
she took a keener interest : that was a direct 
“preparation,” or at least a beginning of it. 
Vague ideas floated through her mind of 
studying medicine, but not knowing whether 
that or theology would be the more import- 
ant, and rather inclining to the latter, she left 
2 •* B 


1 8 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

the matter in abeyance until — There was 
the bell, and she knew not a word of either 
chemistry or physiology. 

Naturally, “ things went all wrong ” with 
her that day: they always do when we do 
not exert ourselves to make them go right. 
There is a strange perversity in “ things ” 
about us. If we do not keep the carelessness 
and thoughtlessness in our natures shut up 
like a Jack-in-the-box, presto ! the box flies 
open, Jack jumps out and frightens the lit- 
tle ones. How those children cry! What 
do you suppose makes them so cross ? 
Maggie did not know what made every- 
thing go wrong with her that day. How 
should she ? 

At last school was over, and beside her 
dear friend Ella Clark she walked slowly 
homeward. 

It is really vexatious, Ella,” she began, 
having carefully studied her speech before- 


THE PLAN REVEALED. 


9 


hand, “ and I was really very much provoked 
about it; but Jack, poor thoughtless Jack — ” 

Here she hesitated, for srhe had forgotten 
the rest of what she had intended to say, 
and, dropping the smooth, reading-lesson 
tone, went on : 

“Jack went and burned up your balloon 
pattern. I am ever so sorry, Ella; do you 
care very much ?” 

“ It don’t make any difference at all, Mag- 
gie, for Carrie Lovett cut it off, and I can 
get it from her if I ever want it again.” 

“ Well,” answered Maggie, heaving a sigh 
of relief, “ I am very glad you feel so. But 
Jack had no business to be so careless, al- 
though” — here she blushed a little and spoke 
very rapidly — “ it was partly my fault.” 

“ It don’t matter at all,” repeated Ella, 
somewhat indifferently, and said no more 
about it. 

As they walked on in silence, Maggie kept 


20 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


thinking of her grand new plans. No, they 
were not grand at all; just humble and self- 
sacrificing, that was all — perhaps this a little 
doubtfully, as she remembered divers texts 
about humility — perhaps holy after a while, 
some time. 

Before leaving in the morning, Maggie had 
obtained her mother’s permission to go home 
with Ella after school ; so, when they came 
to Mr. Clark’s gate, where they usually paused 
for a moment’s last chat, and where Ella reg- 
ularly asked, “ Won’t you come in ?” Mag- 
gie answered, as if the idea had just struck 
her, “ I believe I will, for a little while,” 
somewhat to Ella’s surprise. Very much 
pleased that her friend had consented to stay, 
the hostess led the way to the Qozy back 
parlor, and there they settled themselves for 
a good talk. 

What did they say ? Ask me rather what 
they did not talk about; the subjects -ranged 


THE PLAN REVEALED. 


21 


from algebraic problems to Ella’s new rib- 
bons, but Maggie’s plans were not included. 
Somehow or other, the talk would not turn 
in that direction. At last, in sheer des- 
peration, she broke a momentary silence 
with : 

“ Ella, I have something to tell you.” 

“ Has anything happened, Maggie ?” asked 
Ella, frightened by the mysterious solemnity 
of the other’s tone, and ready at once with 
sympathy for any misfortune. 

The tears came to Maggie’s eyes as she 
thought of the whole thing, and, as she hes- 
itated to reply, Ella knelt at her side, one 
arm around her waist, the other tenderly 
drawing Maggie’s head down upon her 
shoulder. 

It’s silly for me to cry about it,” said she ; 

I do not know what made me feel like it. 
But, Ella, do you remember how Mr. Evans 
spoke last Sunday ?” 


22 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“About our doing something for Christ’s 
sake, you mean ?” 

“ Yes. And, Eila, I think I feel what I 
ought to do — what my work is. It came to 
me last night as I was sitting, by the fire 
thinking what I could do. I shall be a mis- 
sionary.” 

“ Maggie !” 

The tone expressed astonishment, admi- 
ration and distrust, approbation and remon- 
strance. 

Maggie felt it all, but chose to admit to 
herself only the praise and encouragement. 

“You know Dr. Martin’s daughter went to 
— to some place ; I do not remember exactly 
where,” added she. 

“Yes,” assented Ella; “she married a 
missionary, and they went together. Shall 
you — ” 

“ Oh no,” answered Maggie, quickly, to the 
look in her friend’s face rather than to the 


THE PLAN REVEALED. 


23 


half-expressed question ; women go alone 
sometimes, I believe. I am sure I do not 
see why they should not. And then, you 
know, I shall not go for some time yet; it 
will require very earnest and serious prepara- 
tion, and that will take several years. I do 
not suppose I shall be ready to go before I 
am seventeen or eighteen.” 

This last very seriously indeed, as if that 
were a long way off from the present time. 

“ I do not believe my father and mother 
would let me go at all,” said Ella, medi- 
tatively. 

“ I expect to encounter opposition at 
home,” replied Maggie, feeling as if she 
were talking out of a book, being the 
heroine of her own fancy. 

” Haven’t you told them yet?” asked Ella, 
somewhat surprised, and shaking her head a 
little at the negative answer she received. 

'‘But that shall not keep me. When I 


24 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


first tell them, of course they will refuse 
their consent. It will be perfectly natural, 
for it will be a hard life, and, to ’ outsiders, 
one with but little happiness. But I shall 
be determined : I will keep to my first idea 
and go on with my preparations as well as I 
can ; and when I am ready, I do not think 
they will oppose it any longer. It will only 
be so at first. I shall win them over by my 
perseverance and determination.” 

Ella looked a little doubtful, but did not put 
into words the thought behind the look : 

“Truly, Maggie, I don’t believe I’d want 
to go. To leave—” 

She came to a full stop. If Maggie felt 
that it was her duty to leave mother and 
father, sisters and brothers, home, friends and 
country, to be a missionary in far-off heathen 
lands, ought she, her chosen friend, be the 
first to discourage her ? So the verb “ to 
leave” was left without an object. 


CHAPTER III. 


HER FA THERMS OPINIO X. 

LLA evidently thought that Maggie 



-1 j ought to have told her parents of 

the missionary scheme before speaking of 
it to any one else. Maggie saw this, and 
did not feel very comfortable about it. That 
Ella thought so probably would not have pro- 
duced this dissatisfaction with herself if Mag- 
gie had not known in her heart that Ella was 
in the right. In order to atone, as soon and 
as fully as possible, for what she still would 
not acknowledge was a wrong,, she tried to 
get an opportunity of seeing her father or 
her mother apart from other persons. Such 
times were not infrequent, but, somehow or 

other, there was always something else to be 
3 25 


26 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


talked about, and Maggie did not broach the 
subject. 

Day after day passed by; and whenever 
Maggie felt that she could speak of her 
plans, her mother was busy with her house- 
hold cares, with visitors or with the younger 
children. Evening after evening came ; and 
when her father was not called out on busi- 
ness, he sat with Willie on one knee, little 
Alice on the other, Lizzie at his feet and 
Jack leaning over the back of his chair, all 
listening to the wonderful “ hotch-potch ” 
gotten up for their especial entertainment. 

Maggie had once enjoyed this as much as 
did the others as she sat beside her father, or, 
with Lizzie, on a hassock before him ; now 
she wondered how .she ever could have for- 
gotten so far the earnestness, the reality, of 
life. But, actually, Mr. Pollard seemed to 
enjoy it; so did her mother. 

Maggie sat at the table working away at 


HER father’s opinion. 


27 


her lessons, studying the natural sciences 
with especial ardor: that was direct prep- 
aration. But it was very provoking not 
to be able to say half a dozen words to 
one’s father and mother without shouting 
loudly enough to drown the chatter and 
laughter of four noisy children. 

At last came the opportunity to speak to 
her father. Mrs. Pollard had taken “the 
children ’’ down town to see the displays of 
the toy-stores, it being now nearly Christmas ; 
and when Mr. Pollard came home, Maggie felt 
that her time had come. After looking for 
it so eagerly, she was not so glad as one 
would imagine. She was a little afraid of 
the result ; her enthusiasm was dying away. 

“ Father, do women ever go as mission- 
aries ?’’ she asked, after he had been in the 
house some little time. 

“ Oh yes,” he answered. “ Dr. Martin’s 
daughter went with her husband, you know.” 


28 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


But I mean,” said Maggie, hesitating, 
“ do they ever go alone — unmarried women, 

I mean ?” 

“ I suppose so. I really do not know. 
Of course there are some — many — places 
to which a single woman cannot go, but 
there must be some where they can. It 
seems to me, however, that they could do 
a great deal more good in the home than 
in the foreign missions.” Then, turning to 
her, he suddenly inquired, Why do you 
ask ?” 

” I want to go,” answered Maggie, qui- 
etly. 

Mr. Pollard laid down his newspaper and 
looked at her a moment, then, ejaculating 
something that sounded like ” Nonsense 1” 
picked it up again and went on reading. 

” But, father, it is not nonsense — at least, 
I do not think it is. I really want to go 
very much indeed. Not now, of course — 


HER father’s opinion. 


29 


I know I am too young now — but in two 
or three years, when I shall be fully grown. 
That will give me plenty of time to get 
ready. I suppose I ought to know a little 
about medicine — how to treat simple ail- 
ments, and — and such things.” 

Mr. Pollard laid down his paper again and 
said, gravely, 

“ Maggie, you are much too young to 
make any such plans about your future. In 
the first place, it would be very hard work — 
too hard for you even in two or three years. 
Ten years from now, perhaps, you might 
undertake it without danger of a physical 
break-down ; but in ten years very much 
may happen — enough to make you change 
your mind completely.” 

“ I shall not change my mind,” answered 
Maggie, in a low but firm tone. 

“ So you naturally imagine now. Again, 

very much good, I think, could be done 
3* 


30 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

without crossing either ocean. There are 
plenty of heathen within a dozen sc^uares 
of us.” 

“ But, father, they are Catholics.” 

“ I am not speaking of those who profess 
any form of religion approaching truth. We 
have no right to apply the term to those who 
profess to worship God. You have no idea 
of the spiritual blindness that exists here in 
this very city, within hearing of the church- 
bells. There are heathen in the very midst 
of us : bring them into the fold. There are, 
besides, those who are lapsing into a godless 
state — who know, but do not believe : win 
these to Christ. There are little children 
untaught anything but vice : teach them the 
way, the truth and the life ; and when you 
have helped in this work, then you may talk 
about going to other countries.” 

Maggie said nothing. 

After a slight pause her father went on : 


HER father’s opinion. 


31 


“ Bringing it still closer home, my little 
girl, are there no duties within these four 
walls? Your mother is far from well, and 
the children — ” 

“ Oh, papa, we saw Santa Claus !” cried 
Willie, rushing in. 


CHAPTER IV. 


PERSECUTION. 

AGGIE POLLARD was a persecuted 



..VX. individual: so at least one person 
thought as she slowly walked home from 
school. Ella was sick and the walk was a 
lonely one, not enlivened by any parting chat 
at Mr. Clark’s gate : these were the elements 
of that persecution. She wanted to be a for- 
eign missionary — felt that she had had a di- 
rect call to the work — yet her father absolute- 
ly forbade her going; even told her to forbear 
preparation for such a future and relieve 
her mother of some household cares. Her 
mother was no more ailing than usual, and 
the children were no more trouble than they 
had always been, except that little Alice had 


PERSECUTION. 


33 


caught a severe cold, and was therefore cross. 
What a bother those children were ! Some 
of them were always getting sick or hurt. 

Then so many temptations were put in her 
way ! Just last week Lottie Marlow had had 
a birthday-party, and the week before that 
Carrie Lovett had given a candy-pulling. 
The girls would think it funny, or maybe 
feel hurt, if she refused such invitations ; 
and while, of course, she would not care what 
they thought, she did not want to hurt their 
feelings. But all this took from the time 
that she wanted to give to studies not laid 
down in the school course, chiefly biogra- 
phies of missionaries. Then, too, while she 
was in such trouble, she could not study 
well. The consequence was that, whereas 
she usually ranked first or second, the last 
quarter she had actually fallen to seventh. 

“How is this, Meg?” asked her father 

when she gave him her report for his sig- 

c 


34 


MAGGIE POLLARD S SACRIFICE. 


nature. “ Have the others done so much 
better, or you so much worse, than usual ?” 

And Maggie had answered with an as- 
sumed indifference : 

“ I don’t know, sir.” 

Perhaps Mr. Pollard. thought he knew; for, 
taking from his memorandum-book a news- 
paper slip, he handed that to her with the 
report, saying, 

“There’s something I cut out to-day for 
your scrap-book.” 

Maggie took and read it ; only eight lines, 
without title or signature : 

“ He doeth well who does his best, 

Whate’er that best may be; 

‘ Beyond thy strength ’ runs no behest 
Thy Father giveth thee. 

“Yet thou art larger than thy deed; 

The goal must yet be won; 

Claim not thy self-approval’s meed : 

Thy best is never done.” 


PERSECUTION. 


35 


She looked at her father, but he was calm- 
ly reading the newspaper, paying no sort of 
attention to her. Surely he did not mean 
to reprove her in that way? He often cut 
out such slips for her, saying that it was 
better than making a scrap-book himself, for 
he did not have the trouble of pasting them 
in. 

All the next day those lines kept sounding 
in Maggie’s ears with a most provoking per- 
sistency. Did he mean it for anything ? 
Yet she always did her best, and her father 
knew it. Nevertheless, as she walked home- 
ward, Maggie thought of the trials and tribu- 
lations besetting her ; and I do not think we 
are doing our best when we are bemoaning 
ourselves over things that cannot be helped. 
Of course none of us ever experience any 
trouble from what might, could or should 
have been — I mean, can be — helped. 

But I will be firm,” said Maggie to her- 


36 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

self. Firmness in the wrong place is ob- 
stinacy, but of course this was not a case of 
that kind. “ I will keep to my determination ; 
nothing shall prevent me from answering the 
call. Oh how many have given up every- 
thing for His sake ! And to them the every- 
thing meant more than it does to me. They 
perhaps were in the prime of life, with a 
thousand ties to bind them strongly and 
securely to the world. I am young, I am 
but slightly connected with earthly things, 
and this purpose will prevent my forming 
new friendships — will weaken the old affec- 
tions. Gradually every tie will be loosened, 
and without one regret I shall give myself 
wholly to the work to which I feel I have 
been called.” 

Maggie could not help thinking this a very 
interesting soliloquy. She really thought she 
must keep a diary and put into it all these 
beautiful ideas that came to her. It would 


PERSECUTION. 


37 


be of such touching interest when, after a 
lifetime spent in active missionary work 
among the lowest of the heathen, some 
other hand should find it among the re- 
membrancers bequeathed to the friends of 
her youth. Who was it that wrote such a 
charming diary ? It had been mentioned in 
the literature last week, but she had not 
studied the lesson very well — knew it just 
enough to slide through the recitation — 
and now she had forgotten it. She tried to 
recall the name, but without success; there 
was only the ceaseless repetition of 

“ He doeth well who does his best.” 

Ah ! here was Mr. Clark’s gate at last. A 
walk is so much longer without than with a 
companion ! 

“ Miss Ella has the scarlet fever,” said the 
servant who came to the door ; and Maggie 
departed in haste, lest she might carry the 

4 


38 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

contagion to the little ones at home. She 
herself was safe ; so was Jack — both by rea- 
son of an attack at an earlier period. 

This young gentleman met her at the door 
with : 

‘‘Alice has the scarlet fever.” 

‘‘ So has Ella Clark,” answered Maggie as 
soon as she could get her breath. 

” So has the washerwoman’s baby ; and 
she washes for Mrs. Clark, too, and must 
a-carried it to both of them. Lizzie and 
Willie and you and I are to stay down stairs, 
sleep in the back parlor — you and Lizzie, so’s 
she won’t catch it. And we’re not to go to 
school, for fear of carrying it. Where are 
you going now?” 

“ Up stairs,” replied Maggie, ascending. 

“ What for?” 

“ To ask mother about it and see Alice.” 

“Then you can just march yourself down 
again, miss, for you and I and the two chil- 


PERSECUTION. 


39 


dren are not to go up stairs at all. The doc- 
tor said so.” 

I have had the fever,” asserted Maggie, 
with dignity, but pausing midway up the 
flight. 

“ SoVe I, but we might carry it to the chil- 
dren. Come down here and behave yourself 
properly.” 

Submitting, in spite of herself, to Jack’s 
authority, she slowly went down stairs. 

Here was another instance of persecution : 
if Alice was sick, she ought to be allowed to 
share the cares of the sick-room, in order that 
she might learn how to nurse. It would be 
of so much use to a missionary ! 


CHAPTER V. 

TROUBLE. 

» the real troubles increased for Maggie, 



/jL those imaginary ones that she thought 
so real faded into insignificance. It was not 
that her enforced absence from school might 
prevent her promotion ; it was not that Jack 
sometimes proved a rebellious subject, being 
rather inclined to think himself joint-sov- 
ereign ; it was not that Willie sometimes 
proved unmanageably cross and unreason- 
able in calling for mother ; that Lizzie in a 
few days became languid and “ good for 
nothing that she missed the gatherings 
every evening around the fire. The white 
clouds that float across the summer sky 


40 


TROUBLE. 


41 


may obscure the sun a moment at a time, 
but night overshadows all for hours. 

There was now one great trouble before 
which all others were unreal, unnoticed — 
anxfety for little Alice. Day after day she 
waited in the lower hall to learn from the 
physician what would probably be the re- 
sult; day after day she traced compassion 
in his kindly manner, and her heart sank. 

At last there came another care : Lizzie 
and Willie were both down with the disease. 
Maggie no longer had reason to complain 
that she was not allowed to assist in nursing. 
The neighbors, fearful of contagion for their 
own little ones, could do nothing; the chil- 
dren would not take food or medicine from 
a strange hand — would turn from a strange 
face, fretting for the dear familiar one of 
mother or sister; so that on these two fell 
the heaviest burden, lightened only by the 
help of the father. And on all three fell the 


42 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


still heavier burden of anxiety that might 
soon be turned to sorrow, and that only the 
Father above could help them to bear. So 
they watched by the bedside of the sick 
children, and the tears were unshed lest one 
want of a sufferer be undescried by the dim- 
med eyes. 

At last the turning-point came to each lit- 
tle patient — first to the two older children, 
who had had comparatively light attacks ; 
then to the baby; and all three were spared 
to them. 

“ It will be a very long time, however,” 
said the doctor, “ before the little one is en- 
tirely well. I cannot tell yet where the dis- 
ease will settle, so we must guard every point 
carefully.” 

Soon all danger of infection was past, and 
the children were to be sent back to school. 
Then for Maggie came a struggle with her- 
self. The look of anxiety which she had 


TROUBLE. 


43 


often seen upon her father’s face had not 
been for the sick children only : often was 
it turned upon their mother as she bent 
wearily over them. Some words of a con- 
versation that she had overheard when the 
little one was convalescent would not be 
forgotten. 

“ Must have rest,” said the doctor. 

” ‘ Rest ’ ! ” replied her mother, in an in- 
credulous tone. “ With a sick baby, four 
other children and my household duties to 
attend to?” and she sighed. 

“ Yes,” he rejoined, gravely, “ or they’ll 
soon have to attend to themselves alto- 
gether.” 

Only that fragment, that came to her ears 
by an accident, if there be accidents ; but it 
would not leave her thoughts. Ought she 
to give up school and relieve her mother as 
far as she could? She would not be pro- 
moted, anyhow, this half term ; so she might 


44 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


as well do it, and then try the examination in 
September. But this very thought that she 
would really lose so little seemed to prove to 
her that the idea of leaving school was a 
temptation which she ought to resist. 

“ It is always easy to find reasons for that 
which we wish to do,” said this young phil- 
osopher to herself, trying to think that she 
wanted to leave school on her mother’s ac- 
count ; “ it is always easy to find reasons for 
not persevering in the path of duty. If I 
once stop school, there will always be some- 
thing to prevent my going back; and I must 
go back. Independently of the knowledge 
acquired, the mental discipline will be of 
such value to me in the future ! I must go 
on. So long as father does not approve of 
my plans, I must secure this preparation now, 
and hereafter that which is more direct. If 
he thought well of it, now, I would be en- 
abled to do that which would be more 


TROUBLE. 


45 


practical in character than the school work. 
The time that I must spend on such things 
as algebra is not utterly wasted.” 

So, when the physician announced that 
there was no longer any danger to others 
from contact with them, Maggie had fully 
made up her mind to go back to school. 

“ Of course,” she said to herself, “ if it is 
really necessary for me to stay at home, they 
will tell me, and then, of course, I shall stay. 
I will not grumble about it, either, or behave 
hatefully. It will just postpone a little longer 
the time when I shall rend every earthly tie 
and give my life to the work to which I have 
been called.” 

How hard it would be to sever those ties 
she better knew now than ever before ; for 
Death had come near the home, and all 
within it had grown dearer than ever to 
one another. For Death is an angel who 
smiles upon his chosen ones, and the light 


46 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

of the smile, falling upon us, softens our 
hearts as the spring-time sun the frozen 
earth, and the seeds of love and forgive- 
ness grow again. Oh, to break the ties 
of home would be hard — very hard ! 
Nevertheless, Maggie determined to go back 
to school. 

When her decision was announced, Mrs. 
Pollard sighed a little, and then bent over 
baby Alice again. Mr. Pollard looked first 
at Maggie, then at her mother, with a trou- 
bled expression upon his face. Neither said 
anything about her remaining at home, how- 
ever, and the “ hotch-potch ” went on, to all 
appearance, as merrily as ever; only there 
were but three to be amused by it now: 
Alice was still too weak, and Maggie — 
Well, Maggie considered herself too strong. 


CHAPTER VI. 

SOME LETTERS, 

“ At Home, June 29. 

“ T NEAR MOTHER: We received your 
very welcome letter yesterday, and 
were glad to learn that your summer quarters 
are so agreeable. As you wrote to all of us, 
you will see that you have four answers to 
your letter; for the children would not hear 
of my being amanuensis for them. Each 
one wanted to write to you directly. 

“ There is really nothing to tell you ; it has . 
been only five days since you left us, and 
father says it will take a month or so to 
test my administrative ability, but of course 
there will be plenty to tell you before that 

time. Father said, too, that he hoped there 

47 


48 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. . 

would be nothing to tell you during the 
whole time of your stay, for ‘the happiest 
nations have no history.’ I knew that that 
was a quotation, for he raised his eyebrows 
when he said it, and you know that is a 
sure sign in hotch-potch. Still, we hope 
for news from you — of your own strength 
regained and baby Alice’s complete re- 
covery. 

“ The account of her behavior on the 
train, as father gave it to us, was very much 
enjoyed, and Willie was especially impressed 
by her admiration of the beautiful scenery. 
That such a little thing as Alice should 
enjoy charming landscapes does indeed seem 
almost incredible until we remember how she 
always admires and calls our attention to the 
clouds at sunset. 

“ The children are all writing around me 
and distracting my thoughts by asking me 
how to spell this, that and the other word ; 


SOME LETTERS. 


49 


SO that I suppose I had better stop and give 
my undivided attention to them, especially as 
there is really nothing to tell you. 

“ With love and kisses for Alice and your- 
self, I remain 

“ Your loving daughter, 

“ Maggie.” 


“ At Home, June 29. 

“ Dear Mother : Peggy says that she ain't 
a-going to write any but pleasant things to 
you, so as to make you feel good ; but I guess 
she won’t write anything, then, for pleasant 
things don’t happen when you are not at 
home. If I write letters. I’ve got to tell 
you everything that happens ; for I can’t 
write a whole sheet about nothing at all, 
as she can. 

*‘I had a fight yesterday with Jim Gray. 
Whipped him, too. I know you don’t like 

me to fight, mother, and I’m sorry I did it, 
5 D 


50 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

just because you don’t like it, but it can’t 
be helped now. And then, you know, it 
might have been worse, because he might 
have whipped me. The way of it was this : 
Jim was throwing stones at ’most every one 
that came by, just to see them get cross. 
Lizzie came out to go to the grocery, and 
he threw one and hit her on the hand. Liz-‘ 
zie says it didn’t hurt her much. I said to 
him, 

‘“See here, Jim Gray: that’s my sister, 
and you’re not got to throw stones at her.’ 

“ There was a lot of us playing marbles in 
front of Mrs. Johnson’s house. And he 
said, 

“ ‘ What do I care for you, or your sister 
either? Who are you, anyhow? You’re 
tied to your mammy’s apron-string. You 
dassen’t even play for keeps.’ 

“And he kept on in that way until I 
couldn’t stand it any longer, and then I just 


SOME LETTERS. 


51 


pitched in and whipped him all to pieces, and 
he’s a heap bigger than me. Do you care 
very much, mother? I don’t know what I 
can do to make it up to him, though. I can’t 
apologize to him, because he was in the wrong; 
and I guess he thinks so too, now. If you 
think of anything that I ought to do for him, 
won’t you write and let me know? Only I 
wouldn’t like to make him feel too good 
about it, you know. 

“ Peggy’s awful bossy. I told father so 
last night, when he was talking hotch-potch, 
and he laughed and said, 

“ ‘ I suppose you want to take her down a 
peg or two, don’t you ?’ 

“ I think she needs it. She made me stay 
in the house ever since the fight ; but I don’t 
mind that, for you would have done it too, 
and I knov/ I deserved it ; but she don’t want 
me to stay out more than half an hour at a 
time, and it’s kinder babyish for a fellow to 


52 MAGGIE POLLARD^S SACRIFICE. 

have to go into the licKise so soon, when all 
the other boys are out. 

“ I haven’t got any more room on my 
paper, so good-bye. Kiss Alice for me. 

“ Your affectionate son, 

“John C. Pollard, Jr.” 


“At Home, June 29 . 

“ Dear Mother : We are all going to 
write you a letter; ahd when you open this 
envelope, W’on’t you be surprised ? I don’t 
know that I can write a very good one, be- 
cause I’ve never written many — ^just those 
last winter to Rosie Bell, after they moved 
to Kansas ; and you know you told me then 
to write all about what the girls were doing 
at school, because Rosie knew them all and 
would like to hear about them. But there 
isn’t any school now, and most of the girls 
are in the country ; and you don’t know all 
of them, anyhow. Maggie says I string too 


SOME LETTERS. 


53 


many things together all in one sentence. 
She’s done her letter, and looked over my 
shoulder. I told her I didn’t think that was 
as bad as reading other people’s letters by 
looking over their shoulders, and Jack said, 

“ ‘ Good for you, Lisbet ! Go in and win.’ 

Jack is awful slangy since you’ve been 
away. 

“ Maggie bought some cherries for pre- 
serves yesterday, because she said she knew 
you’d like to have some ; but they got burnt 
so bad they were just horrid. And we made 
a cake this morning, but it wasn’t very good, 
for v/e forgot the yeast-powder and flavoring, 
and it didn’t bake long enough. 

“ We do miss you so much, mother — you 
and little Alice ! Father says we must be 
patient, and be glad it’s only for a little while 
and not for all the time. But of course you 
wouldn’t stay away all the time, would you ? 
Father said that in hotch-potch. I reckon 


54 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


he was just joking, but he looked ever so 
sober. 

“ Kiss Alice for your own 

** Lizzie.” 

“ DEAR MOTHER i WisH yoU AND 
ALiCE wAs At HoME it AiNt A Bit 
NiCE witHout you oNE oF thE LittLE 
CHiCKENs is DEAD JACK stEppED oN 
it it wAs A NAXiDENt LiZZiE toLD ME 
How to spELL tHat woRD JACK AND 
ME sLEEp witH FAtHER Now AND 
wHEN i sAiD DoNt you wisH tHey wAs 
At Home, he HuGGED me O AwFuL 
tiGHt WALtER EvANs CAt hAs Got 
FouR KittENs AND hE’s GoNe to GivE 
ME ONE AND ALiCE. WiLLiE.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


ROUTINE, 

T he summer went slowly on ; and when 
August came and had nearly gone, 
there was still no mention made of the time 
when Mrs. Pollard and little Alice would re- 
turn home. 

Maggie began to get anxious as the end 
of the school vacation drew near, for she 
wished to resume her studies. Always 
ready for a book, she did not dislike school, 
and her absence during the spring and the 
long summer vacation had given her quite 
a surfeit of home-duties, always distasteful. 

Every week came a letter from the mother, 
with sweet words of love and encouragement 
and kindly reproof. The daily life at the 

65 


56 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

farm-house was detailed there with but one 
omission of fact, and the same cheerful, 
hopeful tone pervaded all the letters. The 
replies were much the same as ever, Mag- 
gie’s full of nothings — for she was deter- 
mined to spare her mother all unpleasant 
things — and grave and staid beyond her 
years, perhaps a little affected ; Jack’s tell- 
ing everything that interested him, and con- 
fessing on paper his own shortcomings as 
frankly as he had ever done when face to 
face with his mother, criticising “ Peggy ” 
a little too closely, perhaps, and showing 
plainly that he submitted all-unwillingly to 
her authority ; Lizzie’s detailing the house- 
hold haps and mishaps ; Willie’s telling what 
was of intense interest to him, and of little to 
anybody else. In each set of four letters 
Mrs. Pollard found a pretty faithful chron- 
icle of the household to which she longed 
to return. 


routine. 


57 


When is mother coming home, father ?” 
asked Maggie, one evening late in August. 

“ I don’t know, Meg,” he replied, with a 
touch of sadness in his voice. 

“ Ain’t she. coming home before school 
begins ?” queried Jack, opening his eyes 
very wide. 

“ Why should she ?” was the reply, de- 
livered in the mock-serious tone that the 
children knew so well. “She doesn’t want 
to go to school this year.” 

“ I guess not,” said Lizzie, as the children 
all laughed at the idea of mother going to 
school. 

“ I’ve written twice to her, asking her 
when she intended to come, and she didn’t 
say a word, about it when she answered,” 
complained Maggie. 

Mr. Pollard made no reply, but continued 
his talk with the younger children — that 
wonderful “hotch-potch” of stories, scraps 


58 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

of songs, history of the day’s doings and 
comments thereon. 

Maggie could not tell what it meant, and 
became anxious ; but in a little while the 
anxiety wore off, and she forgot her griev- 
ance. All summer long had she been dream- 
ing of her plan and endeavoring by every 
means in her power to prepare herself for 
the work. Just what that preparation should 
be she did not yet know, nor did she have 
any means of finding out except by noting 
how the missionaries of whom she read had 
won their way to the hearts of the heathen. 
Accounts of this kind were, however, rather 
puzzling than helpful. She read of one 
whose surgical skill, exercised upon the 
afflicted, disposed them kindly toward him, 
and she straightway determined to study 
medicine as soon as possible. Again, she 
read of the English lady whose embroidery 
excited the admiration of a rajah, and who 


ROUTINE. 


59 


by teaching his wife first this feminine art, 
then how to read, then the truths of religion, 
laid the foundation of that zenana instruction 
which has been so rich in results. Having 
read this, Maggie was by no means inclined 
to think that the experience of others would 
be always a sufficient guide, and did not 
imitate the English lady’s example of in- 
dustry ; perhaps it was because she did 
not like needle-work, or else she feared 
she would not meet with any admiring 
rajah. 

The housekeeping had been rather pleas- 
ant at first, but as the novelty wore off it 
became tiresome and disagreeable. 

“ So many little things to do !” fretted 
Maggie. “And I don’t care if ‘little drops 
of water make the mighty ocean/ These 
little every-day duties never amount to 
anything, no matter how well they are 
done. If I dust the parlors this morning” 


6o 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


— she was so engaged at the time — “ no 
matter how carefully I do it, nobody will 
be any the better for it to-morrow ; so 
there, now !” and she vindictively brushed 
the dust from a picture-frame. 

Maggie had an important lesson yet to 
learn — that, however trifling the duty, the 
faithful performance is not without import- 
ance ; that if the same thing is to be done 
over and over again, an omission of it, a 
careless doing of it, has a lasting effect upon 
our natures, as the footsteps of those who 
pass once — perhaps never more than once — 
combine to wear away the solid rock upon 
which they tread. 

Whenever the routine became especially 
irksome, Maggie began to wonder when her 
mother was coming home; and when any- 
thing especially disagreeable occurred, she 
consoled herself with thinking of the time 
when she would leave all such cares behind 


ROUTINE. 


6i 


her, and every duty performed would be a 
step forward toward a higher and more per- 
fect life. 

In the Sabbath-school lesson the talk once 
turned upon the subject of missions, and 
Maggie, whose thoughts had often wandered, 
became all attention. She had not confided 
her plans to any one excepting her father 
and Ella Clark ; the reception with which 
the announcement had been met by them 
did not dispose her to let her object be gener- 
ally known, and she had hesitated about ask- 
ing any one how best to prepare herself for 
the work. This was a golden opportunity. 

“ What are the necessary qualifications for 
a missionary, Mr. Evans ?” 

“ There is but one which is really neces- 
sary, but it may be said to comprehend all 
others — an earnest, pure Christianity that 
renders one unwilling to drink freely of the 
water of life without offering it to others ; 


62 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


that makes one willing to offer his dearest 
treasure on the altar of God as unques- 
tioningly as Abraham would have sacrificed 
Isaac. Where this spirit exists it is certain 
to find an outlet in doing good.” 

I wonder,” thought Maggie, if it would 
be best for me to study medicine ? It would 
take so much time that I would not like to 
do it unless it were really necessary.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A JiEVELATION AND A SUEPRISE. 

‘‘ /r Y little girl, you were talking some 
^.VJl time ago about becoming a mis- 
sionary.” 

There was an unusual tenderness in Mr. 
Pollard’s tone as he said this ; and Maggie, 
' thinking that her father was going to give 
a cordial assent to Her plans, looked up 
with a bright face and replied : 

“ Yes, father. Are you willing that I 
should go ?” 

“ What do you suppose is the first req- 
uisite for any one who undertakes such a 
task ?” 

“ Mr. Evans said only last Sabbath that a 

spirit of self-sacrifice was the principal thing, 

63 


64 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

and in that all other qualifications were in- 
cluded.” 

Maggie looked very womanly as she said 
this ; she was naturally “ old for her age,” 
and the cares which had in the past two 
months devolved upon her had strength- 
ened this tendency to sedateness. 

“ Do you possess this spirit ?” 

Startled at the abruptness of his tone, Mag- 
gie hesitated a moment before she replied : 

“ I — I don’t know; I hope so.” 

The time has come to test it in some de- 
gree. If any trouble comes, it is a great lux- 
ury to indulge one’s natural sorrow, but such 
a course is not always best for those around 
us. In such a case could you control your 
own feelings so far as to comfort others who 
felt no more keenly than yourself?” 

“ Father, what has occurred ?” 

Nothing has yet occurred to render this 
necessary; I simply ask you the question.” 


A REVELATION AND A SURPRISE. 6$ 

“ I do not see that that is self-sacrifice — 
the kind that would be required of a mis- 
sionary.” 

” It is unselfishness — a quality of which 
self-sacrifice is one form of manifestation.” 

Maggie could not understand what her 
father meant by talking in this way ; his tone 
was calm and his eye clear as usual, yet 
about him there was something strange — 
she could not tell what. 

” Perhaps,” she thought, ** it is impossible 
for him to refuse his consent any longer, 
and yet he dislikes to give it.” 

By instinct rather than by any process of 
reasoning she had assured herself that the 
something unusual was self-repression. Lost 
in thought, she made no reply; and after a 
short pause Mr. Pollard went on : 

” Although nothing has yet occurred, this 
letter, which came to-day” — and he took one 

of his wife’s from his pocket — “ tells me that 
(> * E 


66 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


it is not unlikely that you may be severely 
tried in a short time.” 

‘^What is it, father?” Her face had lost 
its brightness as he spoke, and was turned 
appealingly to his. 

He did not answer for a moment, and 
when he did speak his tone was low and 
troubled. The strong man could hardly 
keep his face composed, his voice steady : 

“ I have hoped against hope for many 
months ; I can do so no longer. I kept 
from you the anxiety which I felt, for I 
thought that it might be causeless, but now 
there is no more hope : we must resign our- 
selves to what we know to be the will of 
God.” Again he paused as if to gather 
strength. 

Maggie could not answer: her tongue 
seemed paralyzed. Finally he went on : 

“ I saw your mother growing weaker day 
by day, but hoped that a change of air and a 


A REVELATION AND A SURPRISE. 6/ 

good rest might give her new strength. But 
read this.” 

The part of the letter which he had folded 
out ran thus : 

“ I have tried to blind myself to it, I have 
tried to fight against it, for I knew how de- 
spair would hasten the progress of disease; 
but I have grown constantly weaker instead 
of stronger, and now there is but little more 
time for me to pass on earth : it may be only 
a few days. And, having told you this, do 
not censure me for not having written more 
truly of my own health in my previous letters. 
I hoped, John, to be spared to you and our 
children ; and, although I saw that my weak- 
ness increased daily, I still looked for a more 
favorable turn. And, above all, do not blame 
yourself for, anything ; you have done all that 
you could, and I would not have you changed 
in one particular. I cannot imagine any man 
as having been better to his wife than you 


68 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


have been to me. If I could have foreseen 
this, I would not have left home, but would 
have spent the last few months of my life 
with those who are so dear to me, 

“ This is a long, long letter for me, so weak 
as I am, and it has occupied me the greater 
part of two days ; for I can write but a few 
lines at a time. Come to me and take me 
home as soon as you can. I want to be at 
home.” 

Maggie had finished reading the letter, but 
she sat for some time with her eyes fixed upon 
it. She noticed as in a dream that here and 
there the writing was firm and clear, like her 
mother’s, but gradually the line became wavy, 
showing how the hand grew weaker, here be- 
coming almost illegible, while the more nat- 
ural appearance indicated that a. rest had 
preceded the writing of the sentence which 
thus began. She even saw that the letter 
had been folded in one way, then, being too 


A REVELATION AND A SURPRISE. 69 

large for the envelope, opened and re-folded. 
All these trifles she saw, and long afterward 
she remembered the exact appearance of that 
letter. 

Her father at last broke the silence, and 
Maggie, starting at the sound of his voice, 
let the paper fall to the floor : 

“ I shall start to-night to Bellevue, and will 
bring her home to-morrow if she is able to 
travel. I have expected this ever since I 
was- there, three weeks ago, but I — I did not 
think it would come so soon. The train 
leaves at half-past nine. You would better 
put some clothes for me into my valise, in 
case it should be necessary for me to re- 
main longer.” His tone was singularly hard 
and unfeeling, Maggie thought, and she 
wondered how he could think of train-time 
and valises at such a moment as this. But 
she went obediently to work to pack shirts 
and socks. 


70 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

Mr. Pollard followed her up stairs and sat 
down by the window, watching her as she 
transferred the few articles from the bureau 
to the valise. He said nothing until she had 
finished ; then, as he knelt at her side to lock 
it — for the key was hard to turn — he said to 
her in the tender tone he had used before, 

“ My little girl, will you — can you — do 
what I would ask of you ? Can you control 
your grief during the short time your mother 
is with us, so that she will not be excited and 
worried by it ? Can you comfort your broth- 
ers and sisters, who will feel it less keenly 
than you do, because they are younger ?” 

They had risen to their feet now and stood 
face to face, his hand resting upon her shoul- 
der, her eyes upturned to meet his. 

“ Oh, father, I can’t — I can’t !” sobbed 
Maggie, breaking down at last as the truth 
had grown upon her. 

At the first sign of it he had drawn her 


A REVELATION AND A SURPRISE. 7 1 

toward him, and now her face was buried 
upon his shoulder, his arms tenderly en- 
folded her. Not a word he said as he bent 
his head down toward hers until his cheek 
was almost upon the soft brown hair. 

Maggie cried a little while thus upon her 
father’s shoulder ; then, as the first burst of 
grief wore away, her sobs became less fre- 
quent and less convulsive. At last she raised 
her head and said in a voice that was choked 
with emotion, 

I will try, father, to make her last days 
as happy as possible. I only wish I had 
tried before to — to — ” Here she broke 
down again. 

“Meg, there is more than that: remember 
the children.” 

“Must I tell them to-night, father?” 

“ Not unless you wish it; perhaps it would 
be better to wait until you can do it with a 
steady voice and a calm manner. And yet 


72 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


they are such children ! It will come soon 
enough to them. Better wait, my little girl. 
Now dry your eyes and be ready to attend 
to them, for it is after eight and I have but lit- 
tle time before I must hurry to the station.” 

They had not reached the foot of the stairs 
when the door-bell rang with that jerk pecu- 
liar to the postman, the collector and their 
kind. 

“ John C. Pollard live here ?” inquired the 
dapper uniformed boy who stood there, in a 
tone of intense importance. • 

“That is my name,” answered Mr. Pollard, 
coming forward. 

“ Tel’gram f’r you. Thirt’-five cents to 
pay.” 

Mechanically he put his hand in his pocket, 
and, counting out the required sum, paid the 
messenger, closed the door, and lighted the 
gas to read the message. This is what he 
read : 


A REVELATION AND A SURPRISE. 73 


“ Mrs. Pollard died very suddenly at half- 
past seven this evening.” 

Maggie stood beside him, wondering what 
could be the matter. To her he turned after 
what seemed an age of waiting. His lips 
twitched as he handed her the paper; his 
voice trembled as he said, 

‘‘ I will go, as I intended, and will certainly 

return to-morrow by the noon train.” 

7 


CHAPTER IX. 


WAITING. 


IZZIE was promenading up and down 



A j and around the square with two friends 

of her own age ; Jack was off somewhere,” 
according to his usual custom in the summer 
evenings; Willie was engaged in a noisy game 
of some kind just outside the house. 

“Where are you going, papa?” he cried, 
breaking off in the midst of his play as his 
father came out. 

“ Go in the house to your sister, Willie. — 
And you too, Lizzie. — Where is Jack?” 

“ He went off with Charley Johnson to get 
.some worms, so’s they could go fishing to- 
morrow. He wouldn’t let me go.” 


WAITING. 


75 


Do you know where they went, Willie ?” 

“ Yes, sir, up to 

“ Find him, and tell him to come home 
right away; he will not need the bait.” 

Mr. Pollard walked rapidly away ; he had 
not time to tell the children of their mother’s 
death, for he must hurry to catch the train, 
and he could not, dare not, trust himself to 
say more. 

Jack was not hard to find, and soon the 
three were gathered in the house. 

‘‘ Sally, where’s sister ?” 

“ Cryin’ in her room, I guess.” 

“ ‘ Crying ’ ? What for ?” 

“Yer ma’s dead.” 

Up stairs hurried the three, and soon were 
knocking at Maggie’s door. 

“ Wait a minute,” she called, hastily dab- 
bing her eyes with a wet towel. 

“Is it true, Maggie?” called Jack, from 
without. 


^6 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ Is what true ?” she asked, in reply, as 
she opened the door. 

“That — that mother — ” 

But Jack’s manliness deserted him, and 
at the name that meant so much he broke 
down, unable to go any farther. 

“ Yes,” answered Maggie, controlling her- 
self by a great effort ; “ mother is dead.” 

She stooped to kiss Willie, who seemed to 
her to be nearest of all to the dead mother, 
since Alice was not there, and the children 
drew closer together, as if to cling to one 
another in this their first trouble. 

The long hours of the summer night 
passed away ; the morning came with all its 
sad preparations for the reception of the one 
for whose return they had so much wished 
— of whom they had never thought as com- 
ing back to them in this way. With a fever- 
ish energy Maggie swept and dusted, fear- 
ful lest Sally should not be done in time for 


WAITING. 


77 


the terrible home-coming. Nervously, the 
work finished, she paced backward and for- 
ward through the darkened parlors, waiting 
for the sad hour. 

“ Oh, if only I had been a better daughter 
to her ! if only, when she was weak and sick, 
I had tried to save her trouble — had endeav- 
ored to take work off her ! How can I ever 
atone for it ? How can I ever ?” 

She threw herself, sobbing, upon the sofa 
as the answer came, in keenest self-re- 
proach : 

“ I never can, I never can ! for she is gone 
for ever.” 

She lay there crying upon the sofa, utterly 
worn out, for she had passed a sleepless 
night. All through those long hours she 
had kept watch, going from room to room, 
first to comfort the children, then to look 
half enviously upon them as they lay asleep 
with tear-stained cheeks resting upon the 


y 8 MAGGIE pollard’s sacrifice. 

dampened pillows. Sometimes she had 
paused at the little table where lay her 
Bible, and more than once had she taken 
up the sacred volume to find in its pages 
the comfort which she needed ; but she had 
laid it down again without opening it, for 
in her ears rang that commandment which 
is the first with promise, and she remem- 
bered only too well how many sins of omis- 
sion in that direction were recorded against 
her. So, like Rachel, “ refusing to be com- 
forted,” she had passed the night. 

At sixteen the loss of a night’s rest tells 
upon us severely, and must soon be made 
up; so that now Maggie, crying upon the 
sofa, was soon sound asleep. 

‘‘You must all of you keep right quiet 
now,” said Sally, who had tiptoed into the 
parlor, suspecting what was the state of 
affairs, “ for poor Miss Maggie has cried her- 
self to sleep, and she was awake all last night.” 


WAITING. 79 

The order would not have been so well 
obeyed at any other time, but now the chil- 
dren had no heart for noise ; so for a long 
time the house was quiet, and Maggie slept 
soundly, only awakened at last by a kiss on 
her cheek and the words in her ear: 

‘^My little girl, waken up now.” 

And Maggie awoke to all the trouble that 
she had for an hour forgotten ; yet, as that 
day, and the next and the next, passed, she 
felt as if she had not yet awakened — as if 
she were dreaming. 


CHAPTER X. 

HER DECISION. 

S CHOOL begins on Monday, father," 
said Maggie. 

“ I know it, Meg," answered Mr. Pollard, 
laying down his newspaper, “ and I have 
intended for two or three days to have "a 
talk with you about it. Shall you go 
back?" 

“ What do you think about it ?" 

“ It is, rather, what do you think about it ? 
I wish to leave it entirely with you." 

"But, father—" 

And here she stopped. It was not con- 
sistent with Christian humility for her to 

think herself of so much importance, so 
80 


HER DECISION. 


8i 


necessary to the comfort and well-being of 
the household. 

“ How can we do without you ? I will 
not say ‘Very well’ for that would be untrue. 
Sally is a good girl, willing to work, but she 
needs overseeing, I suppose. But if you 
wish to go back to school, Maggie, do so, 
and some arrangement can be made by 
which you will not have the cares of house- 
keeping upon you. Perhaps it would be 
best to go to boarding.” 

” Oh, father !” exclaimed Maggie, in a tone 
of dismay. 

“ What is it?” 

“ We should not have any home then.” 

He smiled a little at the earnestness with 
which she said this, and replied : 

“ If you do not like that plan, we could 
continue to live here, and I might employ 
some one to keep house— some lady who 

will not only oversee Sally and her doings 
F 


82 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


in the kitchen, but will see after the clothes, 
attend to the children if they are sick, and 
so forth.” 

“ Do you like that plan, father ?” asked 
Maggie. 

“It will be a very expensive one,” he re- 
plied ; “ I am rather afraid it will cost more 
than I can afford, but perhaps not. You 
know my income is but small.” 

“ Not only that, father,” said Maggie ; and, 
leaving her seat at the window, she came up 
to his chair. Standing behind him, she threw 
her arms around his neck and laid her cheek 
to his. “ Not only that, but it seems — it 
seems like trying to fill mother’s place to 
put a stranger where she used to be. Don’t 
do that, please, father.” 

“ What shall we do, Meg ? I do not see 
anything else possible, unless — ” He hes- 
itated to propose the third plan. 

Neither spoke for a few minutes. Mr. 


HER DECISION. 83 

Pollard was thinking what a sacrifice it 
would be for Maggie to leave school ; Mag- 
gie was trying to think what else could be 
done. 

“ Could I not go to school and keep 
house too, father?” 

“ How many hours a day do you need 
for your school, including even such prep- 
aration as putting up your lunch ?” 

“ The school session is — let me see — from 
nine until half-past two.” 

That isn’t it, Maggie. At what time do 
you start in the morning, or, rather, begin 
to get ready ?” 

“A quarter to eight, because we ought to 
be there a quarter before nine, and it takes 
me some little time to get on my wraps, 
especially in winter.” 

“When do you get settled down in the 
afternoon ?” 


“Not before four; sometimes later.’ 


84 MAGGIE pollard's SACRIFICE. 

“ Eight hours. Then you study in the 
evening.” 

“ From one to two hours.” 

“ How much do you expect to accomplish 
outside of school-work, when nine or ten 
hours a day are devoted to it ? Do you not 
remember Alfred the Great’s ^ule?” 

Yes, father, but of this nine or ten hours 
he would reckon three as devoted to recrea- 
tion — the noon recess and the time going to 
and from school.” 

“ So that five days in the week you could 
devote one or two hours to what has during 
the summer occupied pretty nearly the whole 
time — that, supposing that you work hard 
eight hours in the day. It would be too much 
for you, Meg ; it would end in your neglect- 
ing one set of duties, perhaps both, or else it 
would wear you out and make you an old 
woman before you are fully grown. The 
two of which I spoke are the only feasible 


HER DECISION. 


85 


plans, and I leave to you the choice between 
them. Take time to make your choice, if 
you wish it. Things can go on in this 
way a little while, I suppose.” 

“ I have already chosen, father,” answered 
Maggie, quietly; 

“ Do not hurry. Remember that we — you 
and I— must consider the comfort of the 
children as well as our own. No one’s 
place can be wholly filled by another, but 
as far as possible you must be in your 
mother’s place to the children.” 

Father, if the question had been put to 
mother whether she should do that which 
promised most pleasure for herself or that 
which seemed best for the children, do you 
think that she would have asked for any 
time in which to consider her decision?” 

“ Certainly she would not.” 

“ Then please let me tell you now what we 
shall do. I will stop school — or, rather, not 


86 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


begin again — and will keep house. I will 
try, as far as ever I can, to take mother’s 
place in the house, and I only hope — I may 
be— half as—” 

‘‘Don’t cry, Meg. You are growing more 
and more like jier every day, and I feel sure 
that while you are with them the children 
will never miss their mother’s care. But I 
wish you would take a little time to think 
before you decide. In this instance your 
duty is not exactly what your mother’s 
would be. A mother’s duty to her children 
is greater than a sister’s toward her sisters 
and brothers. I do not think it is your 
duty to sacrifice yourself so completely to 
their welfare.” 

“ But, father, I cannot choose between the 
other plans.” 

After a pause he added : 

“ This is Thursday. We’ll talk about it 
again on Saturday evening.” 


HER DECISION. 


87 


Maggie knew that her father seldom spoke 
positively about what he wished her to do, 
having always left the guidance of all the 
children mainly to the mother, but she knew 
that when he did give any direction he would 
be obeyed. From this decision, then, there 
was no appeal, but she waited impatiently for 
Saturday evening to come. She was not dis- 
posed to be stubborn in holding to her first 
decision. Knowing that her father would be 
pained if she left school, she tried hard to 
reconcile herself to one of the other plans, 
but it was useless. 

Matters were perhaps made worse by a 
meddlesome neighbor who one day made a 
visit to Maggie. 

What does your father think about doing 
with the children?” inquired Mrs. Johnson. 
“ Will you break up housekeeping ?” 

“ I do not know yet. Father spoke about 
going to boarding.” 


88 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“ He’d marry the landlady or her daughter 
before the year was out.” 

Maggie’s eyes flashed, but, controlling her 
indignation, she said, 

“ Then he proposed getting a house- 
keeper.” 

** He’d propose to the housekeeper in six 
months.” 

Mrs. Johnson saw that Maggie was angry, 
and said to her, consolingly, 

“ Well, well, child, you must make up your 
mind that your father will marry again ; you 
mustn’t expect anything else. He’s young 
yet — he can’t be much over forty, if he’s 
that — and he’s good-looking too; so just 
you make up your mind that you’ll see a 
stepmother take possession in a year or 

SO. 

Maggie made no reply to this comforting 
assurance, making baby Alice the pretext 
for a momentary occupation. But if any- 


HER DECISION. 


89 


thing was needed to make her more deter- 
mined to leave school, this strengthened her 
purpose. She said to herself that she did 
not believe a word of Mrs. Johnson’s pre- 
dictions, that her father would not do such 
a thing, and much more to the same effect ; 
but her disbelief did not make her change 
her decision as to what would be the best 
plan to follow. 

“ Well, Meg, have you made up your 
mind ?” asked her father at the appointed 
time. 

“ I have not changed it, father,” she an- 
swered. 

That is, you have determined not to go 
back to school ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

I suppose it is selfish in me,” said he, 
slowly, “ but I am very glad of it.” 

What a ‘relief to Maggie, who feared he 
would be displeased ! So she told him. 


90 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“ By the way, what about the missionary 
scheme ?” 

Maggie bit her lip. 

I had forgotten all about it,” she replied, 
drawing a deep breath. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A TONE ME NT. 

T he days passed on, and Maggie no 
longer picked up her Bible only to 
lay it down unopened. The first bitterness 
of grief was over, and, although she still re- 
proached herself that she had not done more 
to help her mother, her grief was not so 
hopeless as it had been at first. 

“ I cannot undo the past,” she thought, 
sadly, “ but I can atone for it. Surely I can 
do that. ‘A broken and a contrite heart Thou 
wilt not despise,’ and I will try to atone for 
the past by doing well in the present. Oh, 
help me to be in mother’s place to those that 

she loved, so that, if she can know what 

91 


92 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

passes on earth, she will know that I loved 
her !” 

Such was the prayer that was constantly in 
her heart; such was the moving spring of 
her actions. We are what our prayers are : 
if they are sincere and earnest, they are blest 
to us in God’s own time and way. Never, 
asking for bread, do we receive a stone ; but 
oh how often, asking for the glittering stones 
which are the precious things of this world, 
do we receive the bread of life ! 

Maggie sought comfort above, and the an- 
swer came speedily — a work to be done ac- 
ceptable to God, and one that would be 
approved by her mother, she felt, if, indeed, 
the spirits of those who are gone before can 
look upon us. Next to the assurances of the 
Bible, our greatest blessing is work — some- 
thing that must be done. You who look 
enviously from your daily toil upon the 
“spoiled children of fashion” and luxury, 


ATONEMENT. 


93 


-look, rather, thankfully up to heaven and 
think how much heavier would be the 
burden of your great sorrow if the patient 
pack-horse Work were not by your side. 
“ In all labor there is profit,” says the wise 
man. “ Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, 
do it with thy might.” 

So Maggie found no time, in the round of 
petty duties which must be fulfilled, for the 
indulgence of her own grief When baby 
Alice, sleeping beside her, awakened her, 
crying for “ Mamma, mamma !” Maggie 
had no time for tears : the little one must 
be soothed, the mother’s place supplied by 
the girl who longed for her presence as the 
baby did — whose heart, like the baby’s lips, 
cried, “ Mother, mother !” 

Not a single thing to be done, however 
trifling in itself, that did not awaken self- 
reproach. This she must do now ; but 
when she should have done it to save her 


94 


MAGGIE POLLARDS SACRIFICE. 


mother, she had shirked the disagreeable 
duty. Most keenly did she feel this when 
engaged in those tasks which were most 
purely mechanical, and which did not re- 
quire much physical exercise. 

“ Oh me !” she sighed as, on the evening 
of ironing-day, she assorted the clothes, 
putting to one side all that needed mend- 
ing — ‘^oh me! what a basket of stockings 
to darn ! It will take me all day to-mor- 
row. Maybe I’d better do some now, while 
Lizzie is at home to mind Alice.” 

She sat down beside the well-known work- 
table, and was soon busily plying her needle. 
As the long, slender shaft shot into and out 
of the web her brain was busily at work 
weaving a sad-colored garment for the 
moments : 

“ I hate to darn. I never did like to do it, 
and I don’t suppose I ever shall. I am glad 
I was not born and raised in Germany, for 


ATONEMENT. 


95 


they darn the tea-towels there. Stockings 
and table-cloths and dress-sleeves are quite 
enough for me. I suppose I must do it, 
though ; so I might as well make up my 
mind to it and do it cheerfully. I used to 
get out of it whenever I could ; I never 
thought then that what I left undone an- 
other would do. That is the way I ought 
to have helped her — by doing whatever I 
could, whether I enjoyed it or not ; but, 
instead of that, I left everything disagree- 
able to her, and, though she did not like 
it any more than I, she never neglected 
anything.” 

The tears were falling fast now, and the 
needle went less swiftly than at first. At 
last she gave it up, and, burying her face 
in her arms upon the table, she sobbed as 
if her heart would break. There she sat 
in the rosy evening light, her black dress 
the one darkness in the cheerful room, as 


MAGGIE POLLARD^S SACRIFICE. 


hers was the sign of the one sorrow in the 
happy home. Not often was the luxury of 
sorrow’s manifestation accorded to her, and, 
now that she had given away to it, she heard 
no footstep in the room. 

“ Maggie, dear Maggie, do not cry so,” 
said a voice beside her, while an arm stole 
tenderly around her waist. 

“I — I can’t help it, Ella; it — just — seems 
— sometimes that — I must. I can’t help it.” 

But Maggie was so ' used to controlling 
herself in the presence of others that grad- 
ually her sobs ceased, and, lifting her face, 
she dried her eyes. 

“ Lizzie told me where you were,” said 
Ella, apologetically, when Maggie had be- 
came calmer, “and I came right in, as the 
front door was open.” 

“ I am glad you did,” answered Maggie, 
quietly, “ for we have not had a good talk 
for a long, long time.” 


ATONEMENT. 


97 


She sighed as she thought of all that had 
happened in that “ long, long time.” But 
otherwise she seemed calm; and for some 
minutes they talked, first of her trouble, 
then of hen household cares. 

“ Have you quite given up the idea of 
becoming a missionary ?” 

“ No ; by no means. For a time I thought 
very little about it. Indeed, Ella, at first I 
forgot all about — not only that, but every 
other plan I had ever formed ; and now I 
am so busy with other things I have no 
time for preparation.” 

“ What kind of preparation ?” 

“ Why, learning things I ought to know.” 

Such as — What ?” 

“ I don’t know exactly, but I suppose there 
are many things which would be of the great- 
est importance.” 

Where will you go ? Have you decided 
yet?” 

9 G 


98 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

have hardly thought about that; cir- 
cumstances must decide for me. When I 
am free to sacrifice myself, when there is no 
longer anything to keep me here, I suppose 
there will be some place where I am needed, 
where I can go. There I will go.” 

The needle was flying backward and for- 
ward again now; and, although her eyelids 
were swollen, Maggie’s face had resumed its 
wonted composure. 

“ But it will be a long time before you go.” 

” Yes,” replied Maggie, with a sigh ; I 
sometimes think that the time will never 
come. Oh, Ella, you do not know how I 
long to consummate the sacrifice.” 

“ Indeed, Maggie, I do not see how you 
can talk about it. It seems to me that the 
greatest of all misfortunes is the exile from 
home and friends. I could not go.” 

“ It is not pleasant to think of, Ella, so far 
as mere worldly happiness goes; but I be- 


ATONEMENT. 


99 


lieve that it is my duty, that I have been 
called to it, and I have made up my mind 
to sacrifice everything and go. I would 

* Joy in His grace and live but in his love. 

And seek my bliss but in the world above.’ ” 


CHAPTER XII. 
yACJir. 

** T ACK, what are you doing now?” 

I “Oh, nothing much.” 

“You’re up to something, I know. What 
is it?” 

“Ain’t going to tell.” 

“ Oh yes ; you will tell me, will you not ? 
What are you making — a toy for Willie?” 

Maggie’s tone was very insinuating, and 
Jack yielded. He was not of a secretive na- 
ture, and though he might — he would, if he 
had promised — keep another person’s se- 
crets, he never could keep his own: 

“ Will don’t care for such things any more ; 

he thinks he’s getting too big for railway- 
100 


. JACK. 


lOI 


trains and such things. This is something 
useful. You’d never guess what.” 

So confident was his tone that Maggie 
immediately felt certain she could guess : 

“ Is it something for the sewing-machine ? 
I saw you examining that very closely the 
other day.” 

“ No,” replied Jack, disdainfully ; I only 
wanted to see how it was that the feed-bar 
went just backward and forward, instead of 
going around like a wheel. That was just 
curiosity — like yours.” 

Maggie, busy examining the contrivances 
upon the table, lost the twinkle of his eye 
as he said this, and answered half angrily 
and turning suddenly : 

“It is not curiosity: it is just a sisterly 
interest in what you do. It is not curiosity 
at all.” 

“Don’t get mad, Peggy; I was just fun- 
ning. Can’t you take a joke ?” 

9 * 


102 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“What is it, Jack? Do tell me, won’t 
you ?’’ 

This was uttered very coaxingly. 

“ Peggy, do you know how Joe Harris 
got killed ?” 

“ Somehow on the cars ; I do not know 
just how. Pie was brakeman.” 

“ He was coupling cars, when the engine 
backed, and he was crushed between them.” 

“ However he was killed, it has nearly set 
his mother crazy. But what made you think 
of that just now?” 

“ It was that that made me think of what 
I’m doing. You see, if the brakeman didn’t 
have to get between the cars to couple them, 
there wouldn’t be any danger. Now see : 
that’s the platform of one car; this, of the 
other. I didn’t make the wheels or any- 
thing like that, for it wasn’t necessary; I 
just wanted to see if the contrivance would 
work.” 


JACK. 


103 


Jack paused for a momentary adjustment 
of his rude model, and Maggie looked on 
with admiring eyes. 

“ Now, you see, this is the way it goes, 
and the brakeman has to be right there to 
fix it. But if he could stand up here and 
do it, there’d never be any danger of his 
getting crushed between the cars.” 

“ But, Jack, I don’t see why there should 
be any danger, anyhow,” objected Maggie. 

I suppose there wouldn’t be if everybody 
knew just what everybody else was doing 
and where they were doing it ; but there 
is danger, and that’s just the way that Joe 
got killed.” 

“And you are going to invent something, 
so that they won’t have to get down between 
the cars ?” 

“ Exactly. Now see the difference ;” and 
he showed her how he changed the model to 
suit his idea of what should be. 


104 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ It’s splendid, Jack ! I only wish you had 
thought of it before Joe was killed.” 

“ Well, you see, Peggy, that was what made 
me think of it at first.” 

“Are you going to get it patented ?” 

“ Oh yes. I tell you, it’ll be a great in- 
vention, Peggy. I’ll be awfully rich yet 
from it.” 

“And then it will do so much good. 
Jack.” 

“ I must get up a tip-top model of it. This 
did well enough for me, you see, for I under- 
stood what I wanted ; and you could see into 
it, because you’re smart ; but people in gen- 
eral wouldn’t know, unless they were told, 
that these two chunks of wood stand for 
railway-cars. Would they, now?” 

“ No, I don’t think they would,” replied 
Maggie, with perfect seriousness. 

“ The trouble is I don’t know how or where 
to get money.” 


JACK. 


105 


“ I don’t know that I can help you, Jack. 
Father told me to be just as economical as I 
could be, for expenses had been pretty heavy 
this summer.” 

Maggie sighed as she thought of what 
those expenses had been for. 

“Well, anyhow. Peg, I didn’t want father 
to know about it until it was all right — all 
patented, you know, and ready to be manu- 
factured and sold.” 

“ Do you think you can get a patent, 
Jack ?” 

This was said a little doubtfully. 

“ Why, of course I can,” he answered, con- 
fidently. “ You see. I’m sure there isn’t any- 
thing like it, or it would be in use. Ain’t 
they bound to give a patent for a new in- 
vention ?” 

“ I reckon so ; I should think so, but I’m 
not certain. Suppose I ask father about 
it ?” 


I06 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“ But I don’t want him to know ; I want 
it to be a complete surprise to him,” Jack 
objected. 

” I’d ask him in hotch-potch, and he’d 
never suspect. We’ve asked queerer and 
more out-of-the-way questions than that.” 

“Don’t you do it, Meg; you’d be sure to 
laugh or show in some way that something 
was up ; and I know I couldn’t keep in.” 

“ Do you know anything about getting a 
patent ?” 

“You have to send a model, I know, but I 
don’t know what else you have to do. I’ll 
work on the model until I get it fixed up in 
good shape, and then it’ll be time enough to 
find out about the rest of it.” 

“And you want money to get materials for 
the model ?” 

“ I do that!” answered Jack, with consider- 
able emphasis. 

“How much?” 


JACK. . 107 

“All the way from ten cents to ten dollars. 
* Small contributions,’ you know.” 

“ I have fifty cents of my own that you 
may have, but I cannot give you any of the 
housekeeping money.” 

“ Oh, I know that. And I’ll pay you back 
some day with a tremendous interest. See 
if I don’t, now.” 

“ I think, Jack,” said Maggie, slowly, as 
she took her purse from her pocket, “ I will 
go halves with you and keep the one quarter 
for a nest-egg.” 

Jack’s face fell as he bent over his model ; 
but Maggie did not see there was anything 
wrong, for he answered cheerily enough : 

“All right.” 

“ I have an idea in my head now.” 

“ What is it ?” 

“ Wait until I see whether it will amount 
to anything.” 

“ I told you about mine.” 


I08 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ But not until you had worked it out ; and 
then you did not want to.” 

“Ain’t you going to tell me ?” 

“ Not yet.” 

“All right for you. I won’t — ” 

“ Now, Jack, do not be inquisitive. You 
would only laugh at it if I told you, but I 
believe it would be a good thing to do. Oh, 
Jack, I would work my fingers off to keep 
any one from suffering as Mrs. Harris did. 
I never would have thought of inventing 
anything of the kind, because I did not 
know enough about it to understand just 
how it happened, but I can help you, and 
I will.” 

“ I’d like to know how you are going to 
do it.” 

“ You must not indulge your curiosity ; so 
you told me a while ago. I am not going to 
gratify it, anyhow.” 

“ ’Tisn’t curiosity at all.” 


JACK. 


109 


“Yes, it is, for you cannot help me in the 
least, and it is of no earthly use for you to 
know ; so don’t worry yourself about it.” 

“ You’re a good girl, anyhow.” 

“ I’ll have to stop reading for a while,” 
thought Maggie, “ and I did want to keep 
right on with the course that father made 
out. The books are all so interesting ! But 
I must give it up and help Jack. That is 
the only time I can give to it, for I must 
not neglect other work for it.” 

Maggie had to go down town the next day 
to do some “ family shopping,” as she called 
it. When she came back, the quarter was 
not in her purse, and she had nothing to 
show for it. 

“ Here is a nickel toward the fund. Jack. 
I had to invest only twenty cents.” 

“Ain’t you going to tell me how you in- 
vested it?” 

“Jack, if you will let me alone about it, 
10 


I 


no MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

\ 

I will do all I can to help you. I don’t 
know whether this will come to anything 
or not, but I do wish you would not worry 
me about it.” 

“All right, Peggy; I won’t.” 




CHAPTER XIII. 


WORRIED. 

W HEN the paper came next morning, 
Maggie looked eagerly for some- 
thing which she evidently was' sure of find- 
ing. She knew where to find it, too, for 
she turned straight to the page where the 
little advertisements were — the “ wants,” and 
so forth — and sought one particular column. 
There it was, in all the glory of print: 

W ANTED.— DOLLS TO DRESS FOR THE 
holidays.' Address M., this office. 

That is it,” she said to herself, with a nod 
of approval ; “ I can dress dolls nicely.” 

But before she laid the paper down another 
“want” met her eye — a call for crochet- 
workers, giving the number and the street 


I 12 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

where was located a store at which she had 
often purchased materials for her own use. 
She would go there, she thought, and see 
if they would allow her to bring the work 
home. Of course anything else was out of 
the question. 

“Anything in the nest yet?” inquired 
Jack, anxiously, when he came home from 
school. 

“ Not yet. It isn’t time.” 

Maggie went down town again that after- 
noon, and came home with a beaming face 
and a bundle. 

“ The prospects are good. Jack,” she whis- 
pered to him as they went into the dining- 
room that evening. 

Maggie went out again the next day. 
Really, she was getting to be quite a gad- 
about; so, at least, Mrs. Johnson thought, 
and paid her a friendly visit to tell her so 
and give her some advice. 


WORRIED. 


II3 

“You go out considerable now, don’t 
you ?” 

“ I have been out these last three days,” 
replied unsuspecting Maggie, “but I had 
to go.” 

“ Been down town ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Going down town takes time. And car- 
fare ’mounts up, too. You ought to make 
out a list of what you want before you go, 
and then you wouldn’t forget things and 
have to make another trip. Do you do all 
the buying, or does your father do it?” 

“ Father said I’d better do it, for he would 
never know what was wanted.” 

“ Yes, he’s one of those good-natured, help- 
less men about the house that never know 
when their wives have on a new dress. You 
might feed him on potatoes and salt and put 
all the money on your back and he’d never 

say a word. You need some one to advise 
10 » H 


1 14 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

you about buying-, though, especially about 
clothes for the children.” 

She paused for a moment to allow Maggie 
time to ask her for advice, but, seeing that 
the girl had no such intention, went on : 

” Now, there’s that child ; cashmere dresses 
are not fit for her. I always did think your 
mother was foolish that way. They’re not 
only expensive, to begin with, but they don’t 
last any time. Why, she has a new one 
every few weeks.” 

Not quite so often as that, I think, Mrs. 
Johnson. It is true they do not wear very 
long, because they are nearly always made 
of old material. The one that she has on 
is made out of a dress I wore for two win- 
ters, and there wasn’t enough good in it to 
make one for Lizzie.” 

“ Good stout flannel dresses made right 
plain would do her a sight more good, and 
then you could keep these for Sundays. 


WORRIED. 


II5 

Oh, I know you’ve got high notions about 
it : you think there ain’t nothing too good 
for Alice; but you’ll have to get over that. 
Wait till you get a stepmother. You’ll see.” 

Maggie crocheted diligently, keeping si- 
lence for fear she should say something 
which in a cooler moment she would re- 
gret. 

“Who’s that sacque for? It will be too 
little for Alice.” 

“ It is not for Alice. I — I am making it 
for a store.” 

“For a store? Humph! How much do 
you get for ’em ?” 

“Two dollars a dozen.” 

“That ain’t very good pay. What are 
you doing it for, anyhow ?” 

“ I want some money for a special pur- 
pose, and I did not know what else to do.” 

“ Well, it’s just as well to cultivate habits 
of industry ; you may have to earn your own 


Il6 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

living some of these days. What made you 
quit school? You might have gone on and 
been a teacher. You’re smart enough.” 

“ I thought it was more necessary for me 
to keep house for father than to fit myself 
for a teacher. The one has to be done now, 
and I may never have to earn my own living.” 

“You’ll see some of .these days.” 

“ Mrs. Johnson, if you mean that father 
will marry again, I do not think he will.” 

“ Of course you don’t now, poor child ! 
They never do. But I did try to warn you, 
so as you wouldn’t be so set against it when 
it does come. Be sure he will, Maggie ; I 
know ’em.” 

Maggie bit her lip hard. Her mother had 
not been dead three months yet, and here 
this woman was talking so confidently of 
her father’s second marriage ! It was too 
much. 

“ The worst of it is there ain’t nothing to 


WORRIED. 


117 


keep him from it. You may do your best, 
and keep the house and the children just as 
nice as anybody ; and when he gets ready, 
he’ll do it. And a man is such a fool about 
choosing a second wife! Why, it’s just as 
likely to be Ella Clark as any one else.” 

“ Ella Clark 1” 

Maggie could say no more. 

“Yes, certainly. Why not? Ella’s a 
year older’n you— she’s seventeen at least ; 
she looks older — and she’s a pretty girl. 
But law ! it’s nearly five o’clock, and I must 
go home. Time to be seeing after supper. 
I declare, that girl I’ve got now ain’t worth 
her salt. I don’t see how in the world you 
keep one so long. I never could get hold 
of one that was worth keeping, or, if I did, 
she wouldn’t stay.” 

So Mrs. Johnson departed to tell her next- 
door neighbor over the fence that “ Mr. Pol- 
lard can’t be doing very well, for Maggie’s 


I 1 8 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

crocheting baby-sacques for a store at two 
dollars a dozen, and Alice’s clothes are all 
made out of old ones.” 

Maggie did not know of these comments 
at the time, however, and her joy at Mrs. 
Johnson’s departure was without any alloy. 
She did not believe what had been predicted, 
but her unbelief did not hinder her from cry- 
ing heartily when she thought there was no 
one to see her. Then she prayed about it, 
but not with a faith that was strong enough 
to comfort her; so the prayer did her but 
little good. Her heart was still heavy when, 
at the breakfast-table the next morning, 
Willie suddenly turned to his father with : 

” Papa, when are you going to be mar- 
ried ?” 

“ What’s that?” 

This in utter astonishment. 

“ When are you going to be married ?” 

“ Not at all, if I know anything about it.” 


WORRIED. 


II9 


Maggie’s cheeks were crimson, for she felt 
that her father must think she had said some- 
thing about it to the children. 

“ Mrs. Johnson said yesterday evening that 
you and Ella Clark — ” 

“ Never mind that, Willie ; you must have 
misunderstood Mrs. Johnson.” 

“ No, indeed, I didn’t, papa. She was 
talking to sister, and — ” 

“You must not repeat things that you 
hear. You must have mistaken; Mrs. 
Johnson knows nothing about it.” 

No more was said on the subject at the 
table, and Mr. Pollard soon left the house 
for his office. 

All day long Maggie thought of it, and 
her heart grew heavier. Night came, and 
with it the usual evening entertainment, 
“ hotch-potch.” No time for it then. At 
last Jack went up stairs — to work on his 
model, Maggie knew. Lizzie and Willie 


120 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


went to bed ; baby Alice had gone to sleep 
long ago. 

When, at last, they were alone, Mr. Pollard 
turned to her with : 

“ What has Mrs. Johnson been saying to 
you ?” 

“She said — that — it would not be very 
long — that I must make up my mind — ” 

“ It does not matter about the words. She 
spoke to you about — about what Willie spoke 
of this morning ?” 

“ Yes, father.” 

“When, for the first time?” 

“ A long time ago : before school com- 
menced.” 

“ Before school commenced ! Why, that — ” 
He paused. “ And you believed her, Meg ?” 

“ I — I could not help but be worried about 
it, father, she spoke so positively.” 

“ It seems to me,” he went on, in a tone 
that was half angry, half sad, “ that you 


WORRIED. 


I2I 


might have believed me capable of some 
respect to your mother’s memory, if I had 
no regard for her children. It is a very 
little time since she died.” 

“ I know it is, father, and I never would 
have thought of such a thing myself. I 
told her I did not believe her, but she kept 
on, and insisted that — it — ” 

“ Well, do not cry about it. I suppose she 
is really not worth thinking about. What 
made me feel hurt and angry was that you 
should believe her, and should worry your- 
self about it. You had a cry over it last 
night, had you not?” 

“A little ; I could not help it,” faltered 
Maggie. 

“ My little girl, I have no wish to force 
your confidence ; I know I cannot enter into 
your thoughts and feelings as your mother 
used to do. You feel her loss more than the 
others, for there is no one to take her place 


11 


122 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


to you. But if you have a trouble which 
you cannot or will not tell me, can you not 
take it to our Father in heaven ? Do not let 
anything worry you, Meg ; ‘ cast thy burden 
on the Lord.’ ” 

“ I have prayed about it.” 

“ Be careful, then, how you let the recol- 
lection of the worriment blot out the comfort 
which the prayer gives. Often we lose the 
peace which faith gives because we forget it. 
Do not let your prayers be confined to the 
time when you kneel at your bedside, morn- 
ing and evening, but pray whenever you need 
help, whether to resist or' to endure. ‘ Pray 
without ceasing,’ for temptations and trials 
assail us every hour of the day. There ! I 
have preached you quite a sermon, have I 
not ?” 

“ One that will help me, I know, father.^ 
But Alice is awake ; I must go to her.” 

” Sing to me,” said the baby. 


WORRIED. 


123 


And the song was : 

“ Every day, every hour, 

Let me feel thy cleansing power ; 

May thy tender love to me 

Bind me closer, closer. Lord, to thee !” 


And the hymn was a prayer. 

Do not both prayer and hymn follow the 
sermon ? 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HELPING JACK. 

M aggie crocheted as busily as she 
could, but so absorbing were the 
duties which she would not permit herself 
to neglect that the work went on very 
slowly : it was four weeks before she had 
earned two dollars. Jack began to get im- 
patient, for she could not get any money 
until she had taken the whole dozen back 
to the shop, and he did not yet know how 
she proposed to help him. At last the 
twelfth was finished, and she went forth 
triumphant. 

“ Here’s the money you deposited on re- 
ceiving the wool, and here’s the pay for the 

work.” 

124 


HELPING JACK. 


125 


“ I had to buy more wool — thirty cents’ 
worth in all,” stammered Maggie. 

“ Had to buy more ?” growled the em- 
ployer. Enough was given to you for the 
work. You must have wasted it or used it 
too extravagantly. We can’t allow any such 
claim, miss.” 

He looked at her as if he suspected her 
of wishing to cheat him, and poor Maggie 
felt her face flush up to the roots of her 
hair. 

“ Is — is there any more work ?” she man- 
aged to say. 

“ No ; you’re too slow. We can’t afford to 
wait so long.” 

He turned away, and Maggie walked slow- 
ly out. Thirty cents must be paid back to 
the housekeeping money, for of that she had 
borrowed enough to buy the material lack- 
ing. Over four weeks ! She had done no 
sewing, but barely the mending that was 


126 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

necessary every week ; she had stopped all 
reading, whether for pleasure or profit ; she 
had stayed closely at home and had filled 
every leisure moment with the work, even 
during hotch-potch ; and she had earned 
just one dollar and seventy cents. 

“ It will be a fortune to Jack, though. I 
wish he could go on with his work faster. 
There was a brakeman killed just the other 
day ; I saw it in the paper. Well, I will go 
to those places where they said that they 
wanted dolls dressed later in the season, 
and maybe that will pay better.” 

Plenty of dolls to be dressed. How soon 
• could she finish a dozen of this size, fourteen 
inches without the head? By Friday morn- 
ing? This was Tuesday. The question took 
her breath away ; two a day would be hard 
work. 

” If you will give me half a dozen, I will 
try to finish them by Friday evening.” 


HELPING JACK, 


127 


“ That’s pretty slow work, but I guess I’ll 
let you try it. Twenty-five cents apiece for 
this size.” • 

Very good pay, Maggie thought, compar- 
ing it with her dollar and seventy cents ; so 
she took the dolls and the materials for their 
clothes, and trudged home with the big 
bundle. 

” Pretty dollies,” said baby Alice, admir- 
i then, with a highly-satisfied air, 
“ Santa Claus send Lallie lots of dollies.” 

” No, darling ; they are not for Lallie. 
They are for Santa Claus to take to poor 
little girls that haven’t any. You’ve got 
some, and pretty soon he is going to bring 
you some more.” 

“ Lallie wants this and the young lady 
possessed herself of one. It was easier to 
let her keep it for a while than to take it 
away from her, and Maggie worked away 
at the others. 


128 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


Alice sat in her little rocking-chair before 
the fire, cradling the poor unclad waif in her 
arms and singing such snatches of songs as 
were most familiar to her ears as the three- 
year-old girls and boys will sing them. 
Backward and forward she rocked, the swing 
of the chair growing greater and greater. 
Maggie’s back was turned to this pretty 
picture for a moment, when she heard a 
thud, a crash and a series of screams. She 
turned and sprang to the scene of disaster. 
The chair had rocked over too far, and Alice 
had fallen upon the fender, bruising and cut- 
ting her head badly. The doll she still 
pressed close in her arms, but the head 
lay in fragments on the hearth. 

Maggie soothed the little one as well as 
she could, alternating kisses and cold water 
upon the affected part. This combined treat- 
ment had at last the desired effect, and Alice 
was restored to good-humor. Give up the 


HELPING JACK. 


129 


doll she would not, however. To the aver- 
age small child a broken head does not 
materially impair the value of a doll, and 
Alice clung devotedly to the companion of 
her misfortune. Nothing could be done 
about it, of course. Her own head had 
been so badly hurt that Maggie was only 
too glad to afford the poor little sufferer 
all the consolation which the possession of 
the doll could give. 

The accident materially lessened her profits, 
however, for she had but five dolls to dress, 
and had to pay seventy-five cents for the 
broken one. 

Spite of her hard work and misfortunes, 
she was both proud and happy when, late 
in the short December day, she knocked at 
the door of the small room appropriated to 
Jack’s exclusive use. In her hand she held 
the money she had received as payment for 
her work. 


130 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“ Something in the nest ?” asked Jack, 
eagerly. 

“Yes, at last,” answered Maggie, beaming 
upon him. 

“ How much ?” 

“ Two dollars and twenty cents,” she re- 
plied, speaking slowly. It sounded like a 
larger amount than if she had said it rapidly. 

“ Whew ! That’s more’n I expected it 
would be. How’d you get it ?” 

“ I earned it,” was the answer, given with 
some pride. 

“ Take you all this time ?” 

“ Yes ;” and Maggie laughed. “ I worked 
hard, too.” 

“ You’re a brick, you are.” 

“Jack, do not be slangy.” 

This' was spoken in a very elder-sisterly 
way indeed. 

“ That ain’t slang. There was a king once 
that was asked where his walls were, and he 


HELPING JACK. 


I3I 

pointed to his army and said that he had ten 
thousand men and every one was a brick. 
Didn’t you ever hear of him?” 

“ Oh yes ; I remember now. He was a 
king of Sparta.” 

“ I didn’t know where he hailed from, but 
I reckon he was the biggest brick of them 
all — except you.” 

Maggie was about to make her best bow, 
when Jack, in the excess of his gratitude, 
threw both arms around her neck and gave 
her “ a real grizzly-bear hug,” as Willie was 
accustomed to call such an embrace. 

“ I’m sorry there will not be any more for 
some time. Jack, but you know Christmas is 
so near, and I have so many things to do. I 
have got all my presents to make, and then 
there is a doll to be dressed for Alice and 
one for Lizzie.” 

“ For Lizzie ? I should think she’d be too 
big for dolls.” 


132 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ She is not twelve yet, and I remember I 
had dolls when I was that old. Mother” 
(and the sweet voice was lower and softer) 
“ always said she wanted us to be children as 
long as we could, for we Would be grown up 
only too soon ; so Lizzie is to have a doll 
again this Christmas. There is a beauty I 
have seen down town I want to get for her 
if possible, but it is three dollars.” 

“Are we going to have a tree ?” 

“ I do not know ; I must ask father. We 
have had one every year that I can remember, 
except the Christmas just before little Charlie 
died. Do you remember how disappointed 
he was about it ?” 

“ No ; I don’t remember not having one. 
It wouldn’t have been like Christmas with- 
out a tree.” 

“ How your model is coming on, Jack ! 
Where did you get the money for all the 
material ?” 


HELPING JACK. 


133 


“ Running errands and doing little odd jobs 
wherever I could find them. I’ve spent about 
a dollar and a half on it, and this will just 
about finish it.” 

“Will it? Oh, I am so glad it will be 
enough !’* 

But Jack still looked anxious about it. He 
had learned that getting a patent was an ex- 
pensive business, and feared he would have 
to tell his father before success was as- 
sured. 


12 


CHAPTER XV. 


GROWTH. 


HE time went on, and Maggie was still 



so absorbed in her household cares 


that she had no time to think of her mis- 
sionary work. Partly to supply, as far as 
possible, the place of the school-training 
which she had given up,* partly to keep her 
thoughts so busily employed that she would 
have but little time to brood over the com- 
mon sorrow, her fattier had marked out a 
course of reading for her, and this she dil- 
igently pursued, reading every day, though 
it were ever so little, excepting when she 
was engaged in working for money for Jack’s 
use. 

This was her greatest pleasure, for the 


134 


GROWTH. 


135 


books were well chosen. Knowing that she 
would come to them wearied by a thousand 
petty cares and trials, instructiveness, as we 
generally understand the word, was a minor 
consideration with Mr. Pollard in making the 
selection. Manners may be fine when the 
individual's at heart a villain, and a profess- 
edly entertaining book may have a very bad 
tendency; but we do not judge politeness as 
the invariable accompaniment of villany, and 
a book may lead to good and yet not be dry. 
It is the general tendency by which we should 
judge a book, rather than by the set moral- 
izing which may be scattered here and there 
in its pages. 

“If she reads Romola',' he reasoned, “the 
character and fate of Tito Melema will be 
better than a mediocre sermon or essay upon 
the constant yielding to circumstances, the 
lack of moral stamina and the necessity of 
resisting every temptation, however small ; 


136 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

for she will remember it better. And she 
will be the better for reading John Halifax. 
So I will put in some novels — not too many 
— among the other books.” 

The list was a strange medley to one who 
did not know how it was made, but I think it 
was successful in its aim. There w^s not one 
book there that might not have been the fa- 
vorite volume, next to the Bible, of some 
good man or good woman ; not one the 
reading of which did not make Maggie 
stronger and better. 

All the more surely did the purpose ac- 
complish itself because she did not guess of 
its existence. She would herself have pre- 
ferred books bearing more directly on the 
work to which she had been called ; the 
biography of a missionary would have had 
greater charms than the Schonba'g- Cotta 
Family^ and an essay on the spread of Chris- 
tianity in India would have possessed in- 


GROWTH. 137 

terest superior to that of any history of 
more pretension. 

“ Well, I cannot help it,” she said to her- 
self; “I suppose I must wait patiently for 
the time to come when I shall be free to 
prepare myself for the sacrifice. Now I 
can only strive after that unselfishness which 
is ‘ the one thing needful ’ for all missionaries, 
and perhaps in three or four years I can give 
more time to preparation. I hardly see how, 
though. Lizzie is four years younger than 
I am, and, anyhow, it would not be right to 
have her take the housekeeping off my hands 
when she is only fifteen or sixteen. I had to 
do it, but then with me it was a case of neces- 
sity. It would be pure selfishness for me 
to — Would it, I wonder? I know it would 
if I wanted to do anything for my own pleas- 
ure, but this is an effort to do good. Have 
I not the right to devote myself to the work 
as soon as I can ?” 


138 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

It was the first time that such a doubt had 
ever occurred to her, and it puzzled her not a 
little to answer the question. She accused 
herself of having looked back after she had 
put her hand to the plough ; she felt that, 
having, like Mary, once “ chosen the better 
part,” she had left her place at the Saviour’s 
feet to be “ careful and troubled about many 
things.” Sorely it grieved her that it should 
be so, but how could it have been helped? 
She might have kept on at school and gone 
thence directly to the field of missionary la- 
bor; but the preparation would have been 
lacking then as now. 

Then, too, if she* had stayed at school and 
left the children to take care of themselves, 
or some one else to do it, would their faults 
have been watched and corrected as carefully 
as now? For she tried to fill her mother’s 
'place, not only in the cares of the housewife, 
but in the duties of the woman. 


GROWTH. 


139 


"‘They are the talents committed to my 
care,” she said to herself. “ I must not let 
them be corrupted by the earth ; I must make 
them more precious still — better and nobler.” 

Carefully as the gardener watches the blos- 
soms of a rare plant when for the first time 
the petals begin to unfold Maggie watched 
every trait of her brothers and sisters. Daily 
she prayed for them as her mother had 
prayed for them, and for her; and surely, in 
the loving pride with which she saw each 
fault conquered, each virtue growing stronger, 
there was no sin. 

“ Faith without works is dead ;” and Mag- 
gie’s prayers were not all the care that she 
bestowed upon the spiritual welfare of the 
children. Her own example, unknown to 
herself, helped them. I say “ unknown to 
herself,” for it is not the conscious model 
'that poses for us that we most willingly im- 
itate : the wild flowers transplanted to the 


140 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

• garden are less beautiful than they were in 
the woods ; the native grace of the peasant 
is lost in the strangeness of the studio. 
Whether it be an evidence of natural de- 
pravity or not, we instinctively turn from 
“ model people ” — those who are profess- 
edly, admittedly so; but to the pure, sweet 
spirits whose one cry is “ Nearer, my God, 
to thee,” and whose one example is He 
who “ went about doing good,” our hearts 
turn like the sunflower to the light. There 
are such spirits, whatever the scoffers may 
say, but their Christianity is so inwoven with 
their natures that it is a part of them more 
essentially themselves than the mere tricks 
of voice and manner ; so it provokes but lit- 
tle, if any, comment. To those who daily 
meet such a Christian it is useless to speak 
of his faith, of his goodness : it is a matter 
of course to himself and to all who know 
him. 


GROWTH. 


I4I 

Such had her faith become to Maggie. 
Less noticeable grew the fact that she was a 
Christian as the months passed on, for all 
who knew her had ceased to remark it; it 
was a fact exciting no more comment than 
the beauty of light, but none the less a fact. 

Maggie herself knew nothing of this in- 
ward growth ; she felt that she was at peace, 
and knew, or wished to know, no more. Her 
efforts, her thoughts, her prayers, were for 
others. The wisdom of this world teaches 
that “ God helps those who help themselves.” 
It is worldly, pagan — anything but Christian ; 
for He who wept at the tomb of Lazarus, 
who fed the multitude, who healed the sick 
and the lame, who caused the blind to see, 
who bent from the cross to comfort his 
weeping disciples, — our Lord helps those 
who help others. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. 


“T T THAT in the world—” 

V V No wonder Maggie’s tone was 
one of dismay. She had been sweeping 
and dusting all the morning; for it was 
Saturday, and Sally had a great deal of 
work in the kitchen. She had finished the 
parlors and the bedrooms ; everything was in 
order but this one little room that was Jack’s 
workshop ; and as, broom and duster in hand, 
she entered this, ruin met her eye. Jack’s 
model, on which he had lavished all his spare 
time for two or three months, on which he 
had expended all the money that their united 
efforts could command, lay on the rude bench 
a perfect wreck. For a moment she did not 


142 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. 1 43 

comprehend the extent of the disaster, she 
did not realize of what these were the frag- 
ments. But, as the truth slowly dawned 
upon her, she began to see what a disap- 
pointment the ruin meant. 

When Jack had had to wait for money to 
get more materials, he had spent his time 
in elaborating the work previously done. 
The tw'o tiny cars, then — each less than six 
inches long, since no one of the dimensions 
must exceed one foot — were beauties, carved 
and gilded, with glass windows ; even the 
knobs on the doors were not forgotten. It 
had been the pride of Maggie’s heart as well 
as of his own. And here it lay in little bits ! 
Near it was the hammer which had wrought 
the ruin. 

“And Jack had spent so much time on it, 
too ! And it was so pretty ! Who could 
have done it? Who could have been so 
wicked?. . For.it i§ wicked to destroy any- 


144 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

thing like this. It was to have done so. 
much good ! It was to have saved human 
life.” 

She stood her broom beside the door and 
hung the dust-brush on it. Having thus dis- 
posed of her ordinary implements, she sat 
down on the bench beside the remains of 
the model to see if she could put it together 
again. She gathered up the pieces very 
carefully, and sorted them as well as she 
could; but every moment that she worked 
showed her still more clearly the hopeless- 
ness of the task. It could not have been an 
accident ; the pieces were so small, so hope- 
lessly broken up, that some one must have 
done it purposely. 

“ But who could have done it ?” Maggie 
asked, half aloud, regarding the pieces with 
tears in her eyes. “ Nobody knew anything 
about it but just the two of us ; and, anyhow, 
I don’t think anybody about the house would 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. I45 

do such a thing. I hope so, I’m sure. And 
no one that didn’t belong in the house could 
have gotten up here without me knowing it. 
Even if Willie had been playing around here 
and had done it accidentally, he would have 
told me about it : he never feels easy until 
he confesses his mischief.” 

She looked again at the pieces to see if 
there were not some room to hope that it 
had been an accident. 

Poor Jack ! How he will feel about it ! 
I don’t see how in the world anybody could 
have the heart to break the beautiful little 
thing,” she said, with considerable indigna- 
tion at the idea. 

‘‘ Well,” she sighed, at last, rising to her 
feet, “ I suppose there is no use of fretting 
over it. I wonder what I had better do with 
the pieces? I think I will put them away, 
and Jack will not come on them so suddenly 

as I did. I wonder where he can be ?” 

K 


13 


146 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

She gathered the bits up very carefully 
into a box which she brought from her own 
room for the purpose. Each one stood for 
a day of hope and pleasure for Jack ; each one 
brought to Maggie regret that the poor boy’s 
work was thus made unavailing. 

Jack was nowhere to be found, nor could 
any one about the house give any clue to 
his whereabouts. 

“ He took his hat from the rack and went 
out an hour or two ago,” testified Lizzie, 
who had beeh amusing Alice in the sitting- 
room, “but I did not think of asking him 
where he was going.” 

That was all that Maggie could discover 
as to his actions that morning. No one had 
been up stairs since breakfast but herself; 
no one had been in Jack’s shop for several 
days. 

“ What is the matter, sister?” asked Lizzie. 

“Jack was doing a beautiful piece of work; 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. I47 

it has taken all his time for two or three 
months, and all his money for materials. It 
was nearly finished, and some one has bro- 
ken it into little bits.” 

Maggie spoke very rapidly, for there was 
a big lump that came jnto her throat in spite 
of herself; it was silly to cry about such a 
thing, but she could not help thinking about 
how Jack would feel. All day long she 
awaited his coming with a heavy heart. It 
was half-past four in the afternoon before 
he returned. 

*‘Jack, where have you been all day?” 

“ Down at the office. I went down this 
morning, and father wanted me to do some 
copying for him ; so I stayed all day. He 
sent me home to tell you he would be here 
in about half an hour. He is going to leave 
early.” 

Jack threw himself into a chair, looking 
very tired and dejected. 


148 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ I wonder if he knows it ?” Maggie 
thought; but she said, “I will go and see 
that Sally gets supper ready early.” 

She came back to the sitting-room in a 
few minutes, having successfully interviewed 
Sally, to find Jack still sitting as she had left 
him. This was unusual. Generally he could 
not bear to sit still and do nothing, as he 
seemed content to do now. 

“What is the matter. Jack? Are you 
sick ?” asked she, gently, more for the sake 
of speaking to him than because she really 
thought he was unwell. 

“ No,” was the reply, very ungraciously 
given. 

Maggie sat down, and, picking up her 
work, stitched diligently away for a few 
moments; then, gently, 

“Jack!” 

“ What is it ?” impatiently. 

“ Did you know about it?” 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. 


149 


“ Course. That’s why I didn’t stay at 
home and work on it.” 

“ How do you suppose it — it came so ?” 

“ He thought of it first, I reckon, and 
worked it out.” 

“ What are you talking about ?” 

'^About the coupling. Ain’t you ?” 

” Yes, but I don’t understand what you 
mean.” 

‘ Sure, mem, I understand what yer soy, 
but I don’t know what yer mane,’ ” Jack 
quoted from a newspaper joke, with a des- 
perate endeavor to laugh at his own mis- 
fortunes. 

“ I should not suppose that j^oii would 
think it was any laughing matter,” replied 
Maggie, indignantly, regretting that she had 
wasted any pity on him. 

“ Might as well laugh about it as not ; 
there is no helping it,” answered Jack, 
gruffly. 


150 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

Maggie felt sorry that she had spoken so 
impatiently, and, concluding that the pity 
had not been wasted on him, bestowed a 
new' stock upon him in her thoughts: 

“ What do you mean, Jack ? Who was it 
that—” 

“ Didn’t you see it?” 

“ Yes, but I do not know — ” 

don’t know who he is, either, any more , 
than you do.” 

“ Oh ! I thought you knew who had bro- 
ken it.” 

“ Who broke it ? Oh ! you’re talking about 
the model ? I did that myself.” 

“ Oh, Jack ! How could you ? Or, rather, 
how did it happen ? It was an accident, was 
it not?” 

“‘Accident’? I do think you must be 
crazy. What under the sun are you trying 
to get at ? What are you talking about ?” 

“ Do you not know that your model, that 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. I5I 

you have worked so hard on, is all in -bits no 
bigger than my thumb-nail ?” 

“Yes, of course I know it, for I did it my- 
self, on purpose. Didn’t you read the paper 
this morning?” 

“No; I was so busy I did not have time,” 
answered Maggie, not knowing whether the 
whole system of patents was to be done away 
with or whether people were to travel by 
telegraph, and railroads to be abolished. 

“I broke it,” said Jack, speaking very 
slowly and firmly — so firmly you might 
have supposed that it required an effort to 
keep his voice steady — “ because it is of no 
use at all. A patent has been issued for an 
invention very much like mine, for the same 
purpose. I saw the notice of it in the paper 
this morning. The patentee is a St. Louis 
man.” 

“ I am so sorry — ” began Maggie. * 

“What for? You need not be,” answered 


152 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

Jack, ungraciously ; and he left the room 
abruptly. 

“ What is the matter?” asked Mr. Pollard, 
entering at that moment. 

“Jack has had a great disappointment, 
father. I do not know that I can tell you 
what it is, for a long time ago I promised to 
keep his secret.” 

“ Is it about his model ?” 

“ Did he tell you ?” asked Maggie, in some 
surprise. 

“ Yes ; he told me all about it down at the 
office to-day. That was the reason I kept 
him there and put him to work : he felt so 
badly about it. Can his model be put to- 
gether again?” 

“ I think not, father ; it is in pieces no 
larger than that.” 

“ Too bad ! I should have liked him to 
keep it. From what he tells me — he de- 
scribed it to me fully — his is not so com- 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. 1 53 

plete, and hardly so practicable, as that to 
which the patent was issued ; but it shows 
considerable inventive genius, especially when 
we take his age and all other things into con- 
sideration.’ 

“ The model was beautiful, father — so finely 
finished.” 

“Yes; lam sorry he destroyed it. How 
did he come to do it?” 

“ I do not know. I knew nothing about it 
until I went into his room this morning to 
clean up. And I do not think he likes to 
talk about it.” 

“ No ; I suppose not. He told me who 
helped him about the money.” 

“ Did he ?” asked Maggie, blushing a lit- 
tle, asking the question chiefly because she 
did not know what else to do or to say. 

“ Yes. Was that the reason you stopped 
your reading for a while ?” 

“ Yes ; I worked every minute of the time 


154 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


for nearly five weeks. I believe the reading 
was the only thing I neglected.” 

“ The only thing purely personal that you 
do. How much did you earn?” 

“ Three dollars and a quarter, but then I 
had to pay for ah advertisement and some 
other things, and I made just two dollars 
clear.” 

Mr. Pollard smiled an amusing smile, but 
said nothing. Maggie laughed, too, as she 
thought of her own trouble in earning that 
pitiful sum. 

Jack had said to his father, 

“ I ought to pay Peggy back the money 
that she gave me for it.” 

How much was it?” 

“ Two and a half altogether. I don’t know 
when I can ever earn so much.” 

Do you want work, sir ?” 

Jack laughed at the business-like tone of 
his father, and replied with emphasis : 


JACK FINISHES HIS MODEL. 1 55 

“ I do that !' 

“ ril employ you. I’ve got some copying 
I want done, and I will pay you five cents a 
hundred words. You can write about two 
thousand to-day, I reckon, and finish in 
the afternoons of next week, after school.” 

“All right, sir !” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


ALICE. 


HE winter before Mrs. Pollard’s death, 



X when the three younger children had 
been attacked by scarlet fever, little Alice 
had suffered most severely of all, and it was 
because she was still weak and pale that her 
mother had consented to go into the country 
for the summer. But, contrary to expecta- 
tion, she had not grown fat and rosy ; it was 
a delicate little lily that Maggie, with a burst 
of passionate tears, clasped in her arms when 
her father returned from Bellevue. She 
seemed well, however, in spite of her pal- 
lor, and gradually the flush came back to 
her cheek and the light to her eye. 

“ She is getting quite well again,” thought 


ALICE. 157 

Maggie, looking with delight upon thfe sweet 
face that answered her with a smile. 

She had been so constantly with her 
mother, and had been separated from the 
others for what, in her baby-existence, was 
such a long, long time, that she missed the 
mother more than otherwise she would have 
done. Had Maggie had more time to think 
of her own trouble, the cries of the child for 
the love that both had known so well would 
have made her heart ache with a keener 
pang; but the baby must be soothed, the 
mother’s place supplied to her, and in this 
endeavor she found comfort for herself. So 
the motherless child found a mother, and 
soon learned to cling to the sister as if 
she had never known the care of any 
other. 

To Maggie she grew dearer every day. It 
was not only the little sister who had always 
been the darling of the house since first she 

14 


158 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

came to them, but it was the one who had 
been with her mother in those last few weeks 
of her life, the child for whose sake she had 
left her home to die among strangers. On 
her head, perhaps, the thin hand had rested 
in blessing when the spirit had fled from the 
wasted form. This was the most helpless of 
those for whom her mother had toiled and 
prayed; to this one, then, she, who must 
take that mother’s place, meted out a double 
portion of love — a mother’s and a sister’s af- 
fection. 

The crimson dyed the little cheek, the 
light shone in the brown eyes, but -the hand 
was still delicate and slender. “A little 
lady’s hand,” Maggie said, kissing it as if 
it were a queen’s ; and into her face there 
came a look as if she saw beyond the veil. 
Deeper and deeper grew the eyes, and still 
they smiled back at Maggie as the mountain- 
lake gleams in the sunlight : they answered 


ALICE. 


159 


to tlie sunshine of love. Closer and closer, 
it seemed, every evening, was the clasp of 
those little arms ; stronger and stronger grew 
the love between them. 

“ Father must often think of Alice as the 
last one of us who was with mother,” thought 
Maggie ; “he looks at her so sadly sometimes 
that it almost seems I can see the tears in his 
eyes. I wonder if he does think of it ?” 

So the winter wore away, and Alice was 
still rosy. They had had a happy Christmas, 
in spite of the recent sorrow ; for four months 
will bring forgetfulness to the hearts of chil- 
dren, and Mr. Pollard was not selfish enough 
to wish to deprive them of innocent pleasures 
or to keep in their minds the sorrow through 
which they had passed. But the little one 
often paused from her play and begged to be 
taken on Maggie’s lap. There she would lie 
listening to the stories or songs which were 
always ready when she called for them. 


l6o MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


It was nearly the end of February, and 
Mrs. Johnson was an afternoon visitor. 
Alice had been playing on the floor, and 
came to Maggie’s side: 

“ Take me up, please. I’m so tired !” 

“ Does that child get tired of playing that 
way ?” 

“Yes; I have to nurse her awhile every 
afternoon.” 

“ Humph ! There’s something wrong, or 
she wouldn’t do that.” 

“ She seems well, though ; she never com- 
plains of any pain and her cheeks are rosy. 
See !” 

“Are they always rosy ?” 

“ She’s pale in the mornings, but after she 
sleeps she seems better. Her cheeks are 
always red and her eyes bright when father 
comes home.” 

“You’d better look out, Maggie; that 
child ain’t going to live. Those flushed 


ALICE. 


i6i 


cheeks and bright eyes ain’t natural; it’s 
fever. You ask your father. Remember, 
she’s likely got your mother’s disease.” 

Maggie looked down upon the little brown 
head that leaned wearily against her bosom, 
and thought what it would be without Alice. 
Every moment of the day, it seemed, was 
fraught with thoughts of her, with services 
for her: how could she live without this 
darling of her daily life ? She was like one 
stunned by a blow ; she heard hardly any- 
thing else that the visitor said ; only in her 
ears sounded the words : 

“Alice will die! Alice will die!” 

Mrs. Johnson departed, but the sting which 
she had, as usual, left behind her was a deeper 
one than ever before. Maggie believed in her 
father, trusted in him, and the busy neigh- 
bor’s words could no longer inspire her with 
a dread of a stepmother. But that was at 
best a selfish, foolish dread : there were good 

14 * L 


1 62 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

stepmothers as well as bad ; and it was ab- 
surd to think that her father would choose' 
as a wife a woman who would not be good 
to his children — if, indeed, he ever should 
marry again. He himself had said that Mrs. 
Johnson knew nothing about that, but surely 
she, who was the oracle of the neighborhood 
in time of sickness, could not be mistaken 
about this. So, when all the children were 
in bed and there had come the few quiet 
moments for which Maggie had learned to 
look as the time devoted to all confidential 
talks between herself and her father, she said 
to him, 

“ Father, Mrs. Johnson was here again 
to-day.” 

“Worrying you again?” 

“Yes, father.” 

As Maggie replied there was a sadness in 
her voice that made him drop his banter- 
ing tone and ask with tenderness. 


ALICE. 163 

“ What is it, Meg ? What did she say 
to you?” 

“ She said,” answered Maggie, making a 
great effort to keep her voice steady — “ she 
said that Alice is not well ; that her rosy 
cheeks and bright eyes mean that she has 
fever.” 

“ But she always has red cheeks — that is, 
whenever I see her. She is never awake 
when I leave in the morning.” 

“ She is always pale in the morning, and 
ev'ery afternoon she gets tired of playing.” 

That was the beginning of the anxiety, the 
watching, the sorrow. The physician con- 
firmed Mrs. Johnson’s judgment, adding that 
there was no hope ; and day by day they saw 
her fade from them as the bright clouds of 
sunset fade into the night. 

The spring came with all its freshness and 
beauty ; the snowy narcissus, with its flame- 
crowned golden cup, bloomed in the garden 


164 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

beside the hyacinth and the lily-of-the-valley ; 
in the woods the wild violets hid shyly be- 
neath their broad green leaves, the ferns un- 
rolled their delicate fronds, the spring beau- 
ties unfolded their white petals veined with 
rose-color, like hope in the pure heart of a 
child ; the air blew freshly over the broad 
yellow river that glittered like gold in the 
sunlight as it flowed over field and meadow 
whence once it had been banished ; the sun- 
shine came and went as the light clouds 
floated over the sky. From many a home 
it went, to many a home it came : from one 
went the sunbeam that was called “ Little 
Alice.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A PRESENT. 

M AGGIE’S life was strangely empty 
now. 

“ It seems as if I had nothing to do,” she 
said, sadly. 

She sorely missed the duties which had 
taken so much time, even when Alice had 
been comparatively well, and every complaint 
she had ever made in her own thoughts about 
the lack of time seemed to come back to her 
with the reproach : 

“You have time for everything now: how 
do you like it ?” 

This was at first. Often she awoke from 
her sleep fancying the arms of the little one 
about her neck, the voice in her ear; but time 

165 


1 66 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

passed on, and comfort came. Of such is 
the kingdom of God.” Should she grieve 
that the child she had loved so dearly was 
at home? 

Jack had done considerable work in his 
father’s office since the failure of his plans, 
and in the course of three months was the 
proud possessor of what seemed to him a 
fabulous sum — an amount which would pur- 
chase half the desirable articles to be found 
in the stores of St. Louis. So, undoubted- 
ly, it would do in imagination, for he could 
change his mind as often as he took the 
notion to do so. 

. It was somewhat strange, but Mr. Pollard 
had never before had so much copying to 
do; and it was equally strange that there 
was no particular hurry about any of it, so 
that Jack could do it after school or on Sat- 
urdays. But it was a good thing for Jack 
— a very good thing; for he had promised 


A PRESENT. 167 

to pay Maggie back, with a very heavy in- 
terest, and he meant to do it, too. 

I won’t pay her the money,” he said to 
his father, for she wouldn’t take it, and 
maybe she’d feel hurt about it ; but I’ll buy 
her something right nice and have her name 
put on it, so’s she can’t refuse it. What do 
you think would be nice?” 

“ I hardly know. It ought to be some- 
thing that she could always keep — durable, 
and not likely to go out of fashion.” 

“ Of course,” assented Jack, thoughtfully, 
“ for I should want her to keep it as long 
as she lives. Don’t you think a nice piece 
of jewelry would do ? A pair of bracelets, 
or a chain and locket, or — or something?” 

“ Yes, but remember that she is in mourn- 
ing now and would not wear the ornaments 
for a year or so.” 

Ain’t there jewelry for people in mourn- 
ing — black and gold ?” 


1 68 , MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“Yes, but she will wear colors after a 
while, and then the mourning-jewelry would 
look out of place.” 

“ r would like to get her something of the 
kind. Oh, I know! I’ll get her a watch.” 

“She has your mother’s, though,” sug- 
gested Mr. Pollard. 

“ Oh, she could put that away for Lizzie, 
you know.” 

“ Yes ; I had not thought of that. I sup- 
pose the watch would be the best thing that 
you could get.” 

“ How much can I get one for ? Maybe 
I haven’t enough yet,” suggested Jack, to 
whom the idea had just occurred. 

“ How much have you ?” 

“ I’ve got forty dollars.” 

“ I think, if I were you, I would wait until 
I had fifty.” 

“Yes; I’d like to get one that would run 
well. I’ll wait.” 


A PRESENT. 


169 


Or I could advance you the other ten, 
and you could continue copying until you 
had paid it back to me.” 

“I think I’d rather not, father; I’d like to 
have it all paid for before I give it to her.” 

So Jack penned away at the copying. 

“ Why, father, I can work for you all va- 
cation, can’t I ?” 

“ Hum ! Well, I — I hardly think I shall 
have much more work that you can do. The 
dull season is coming on, you see, and then 
the extra hands always have to go.” 

” Well,” answered Jack, cheerfully, “ I 
don’t really need any more. What a good 
thing it was that the work lasted just long 
enough for me to pay Maggie! Funny, 
wasn’t it?” 

. “ Rather,” replied his father, bending down 
over his desk to hide the twinkle in his eyes 
and the curving of his lips. 

15 


I/O MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

Tell you what, father : you know Mr. 
Williams gave Miss Mary a watch for a 
wedding-present,” broke in Jack while their 
pens were busily scratching. 

“ Yes,” answered his father, abstractedly. 

“ Well, it had his picture photographed 
on the face of it. Don’t you think it would 
be nice to have yours and mother’s on 
Peggy’s watch ?” 

“Yes; I think she’d like it very much 
indeed.” 

So the watch was bought — a plain case, 
but an excellent timepiece of a standard 
make. Inside the case was engraved the 
name “Margaret N. Pollard,” just as it 
stood in the mother’s, and on the enamel of 
the face were photographed the pictures of 
father and mother. 

“I tell you. I’ll just bet she’ll like it!” ex- 
claimed Jack, who was almost wild with de- 
light and pride. 


A PRESENT. 


I7I 

He felt very large as he walked into the 
house with the precious parcel in his hand. 
But presentation ceremonies were by no 
means to his mind : 

“ I say, Maggie, here’s something for you.” 

It was in a tone expressive of the utmost 
desperation that he said this. Maggie took 
the package that he held out to her, looking 
as if it were burning his fingers : 

“What is it?” 

“ Open it and see.” 

Maggie undid the knot and opened the 
paper. There was a red morocco case, in- 
side which, on the velvet lining, lay the 
watch. 

“For me. Jack?” she asked, looking up 
at him as he stood beside her. 

“Open it and look at the face.” 

“ But I don’t understand — ” 

“ Didn’t I tell you I was going to pay 
back what you gave me to help with the 


1/2 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

model ? I earned it every cent myself, 
copying for father. Open it and look at 
the face.” 

✓ 

As Maggie looked at the two tiny por- 
traits Jack continued : 

You can give mother’s to Lizzie, you 
know, and then you’ll each have one.” 

“ Yes,” answered Maggie, without a shadow 
of hesitation, “ Lizzie can have mother’s. This 
is a beauty. Jack. And then the pictures, 
too ! But you must have worked very hard 
for it. You ought not to have spent all your 
money on me.” 

Although Maggie’s words reproached him, 
her tone praised him ; and Jack replied heart- 
ily: 

“Yes, I ought too, for you’re so awful 
good to me.” 

“ I will go up stairs and put this one away, 
and put my new one on the guard. But 
first — There, now! I can’t tell you how 


A PRESENT. 


173 


much I thank you for your thinking so 
much of me.” 

“ That ain’t nothing,” replied Jack, brusque- 
ly, but returning her kiss. 

” If only it had been something else !” 
thought Maggie as she went up stairs. “ I 
suppose it is selfish in me, for Lizzie has as 
much right to it as I have, but I did want to 
use mother’s all my life. But I must not let 
any one know I think that, for Jack might get 
to hear it, and it would spoil all his pleasure 
in the gift.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


PREPARATION. 

I OUGHT to be ashamed of myself/' 
thought Maggie as she sat sewing one 
day late in the spring. ‘M have undertaken 
this work, and pretend to myself that I am 
going to make every preparation for it as 
soon as I possibly can, and here I neglect 
what opportunities I have !” 

Her face wore a very much disgusted ex- 
pression as she said this to herself ; but self- 
love is so strong that even in our moments 
of keenest self-reproach its voice will be 
heard offering kindly excuses for the poor 
creature whom we so vehemently accuse of 
high crimes and misdemeanors. Even while 

Maggie was thus telling herself of her short- 
174 


PREPARATION. 1^5 

comings, palliations would suggest them- 
selves : 

“ I have so little time !” 

I have a great deal more time now than 
I used to have,” with a sigh, “ and there is 
plenty of leisure for a good deal of work.” 

“ But it is so broken up by other things 
that it is not worth much. A whole hour is 
worth more than three half hours.” 

“ But if the whole hour is not to be ob- 
tained, the three half hours should not be 
despised. Perhaps, too, I could arrange the 
other and work differently, so as to allow 
more time for this. There’s no excuse for 
my idling away my precious time in this 
manner.” 

“ Then why do you do it ?” asks Some- 
thing which has* been judge in this con- 
troversy; but whether that Something was 
conscience or common sense I do not know, 
nor would I Ijl^? to say. 


176 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

Maggie could not answer this question to 
her own satisfaction ; she could only prom- 
ise herself, like the children, not to do so 
any more. 

I will go to work this very day,” she said, 
resolutely, “ and I will calculate how much 
time I can devote to it every day. I do 
wonder just what it would be best for me to 
do?” Hers was a perplexed face just at that 
moment. “ The worst of it is, I cannot ask 
any one about it. Father has not yet given 
his consent — well, I have not asked him the 
second time, to be sure, but I do not think 
he would — so I cannot very well ask him to 
advise me in preparing for a work of which 
he does not approve — that is, approve for 
me. And, since he does not think well of 
it, I cannot ask any one 61se. I know that 
ultimately he will not refuse his consent ; he 
cannot when he sees how ardently I long for 
the opportunity to consummate the sacrifice 


PREPARATION. 


177 


of my own hopes and plans and ambitions — 
those that I used to have, at least, for I 
have none now. But I cannot say to any 
one else — not even to Mr. Evans — that this 
is a house divided against itself, for he might 
not exactly understand why I came to ask 
advice ; he might censure father, and / know 
he does not deserve blame of any kind. But 
if now I were to urge on him the necessity 
of preparation for this work, he would think 
that I was dissatisfied with the present state 
of affairs.” 

Maggie stitched away diligently for a while, 
still wondering how she should begin. 

“ I suppose,” she said to herself, “ I ought 
to determine first to what country I will go, 
and study the peculiarities of its climate and 
productions and people — make a geography 
lesson out of it.” 

She smiled to herself as she thought how 

different this would be from the geography 
M 


178 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

lessons at school. Those she had not liked 
especially well ; there was always so much to 
be learned, and it was all put into such a little 
space. 

“What do I know about India, for in- 
stance ? It belongs to England, or, at least, 
one peninsula does : I am not sure about the 
other. There are many native chiefs there 
in command of tribes, and sometimes they 
rebel against the British rule. The religion 
of the natives is Brahminism, and they live 
chiefly on rice. I wonder if there is any 
connection between the two facts? They 
seem to come together in my mind, at any 
rate. Now, if I were going as a missionary 
to India, how much good would my know- 
ledge of the country and of the people do 
me? Not very much, I am afraid. I ought 
to know the people and their present religion 
well enough to be able to combat their opin- 
ions without offending them.” 


PREPARATION. 


179 


And Maggie — innocent Maggie — thought 
that this was a knowledge to be gained 
from books ! She intended to read so 
many half hours a day to acquire this 
valuable information. 

I wonder if it would be well for me to go 
to India, or whether I had better go some- 
where else ? I must decide, and that very 
soon ; for I surely cannot afford to lose any 
more time.” 

But it was really very hard for her to reach 
a decision : should it be India or should it be 
Africa ? 

What a glorious life was Dr. Living- 
stone’s !” she mused as she thought of the 
Dark Continent as a field of labor. “And 
how many difficulties beset him in his early 
days ! I complain that I have no time for 
preparation, and there he had to work in a 
factory for ever so many years, and could 
only go to evening school. He did not 


l8o MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

have so much time as I have, and yet he 
managed to study both medicine and the- 
ology by the time he was twenty-three. I 
shall be free to go before I am as old as 
he was ; I wonder if I shall be prepared ? 
I suppose that I cannot, of course, do it all 
by myself, but I can make a very good be- 
ginning. 

“ What a glorious thing it was to stop the 
slave-trade by converting the tribes that dealt 
in the horrible traffic ! To do that was worth 
giving a life. It was worth thousands of 
lives, for who can tell how many it saved ? 
But of course I could not do anything like 
that ; I must be content to work in a small 
way. Mine will be but a little field, or perhaps 
I shall only glean after others have reaped 
the harvest. But it does not matter. So 
that the work gets done, it does not matter 
who does much or who does little; so that 
each one does his appointed task cheerfully 


PREPARATION. 1 8 I 

and well, it makes no difference what it may 
be. Oh, if only I could point one poor be- 
nighted soul to the light ! If only I could 
guide one into the way ! I think that then I 
could die content, if there were no more for 
me to do. For such a result how gladly 
would I sacrifice everything ! For what 
could I — what could any one — put in the 
scale to balance a soul ? 

“ I shall go at the eleventh hour, I fear. 
Perhaps I shall not be able to endure for a 
long time ; perhaps death will call me before 
I have done as much as I would wish ; but — 
Oh how much would I wish to accomplish ! 
Who can tell? All that is in me I would 
dedicate to this purpose ; everything that I 
can do, be it much or be it little, shall be 

done, so that Thou help me.” 

16 


CHAPTER XX. 

WILLIE. 

“ ^ yr AGGIE, has Willie ever complained 
to you of his eyes paining him ?” 
“Yes, father; for some time past I have 
helped him a good deal in getting his les- 
sons. I have done all his arithmetic for him 
for a month or so — that is, he would tell me 
what to put down.^ Of course I wanted him 
to do the real work himself.” 

“ How long has it been so ?” 

“ I think his eyes have not been perfectly 
strong since he had the scarlet fever, more 
than a year ago — that is, as strong as they 
were before that. Last fall he first spoke of 

it, and said that for a long time they had 
182 


WILLIE. 183 

hurt him whenever he tried to read or to 
study at night.” 

“ " For a long time ’ ! Have you any idea 
what he meant by that? How long?” 

“ I questioned him very closely, but he 
could not remember just when it was that 
they first pained him. It was before school 
closed last year, though.” 

” Did you do anything for them ?” 

Mrs. Johnson told me to put tea-leaves 
on his eyelids every night. I did that and 
had him study in daylight, and he got better 
in a little while,; but now that does not seem 
to do him much good and Maggie sighed 
anxiously. 

‘‘All our troubles in the past two years 
seem to date back to that time. Alice’s 
lungs never were strong after that illness ; 
Willie’s eyes are affected by it. How about 
Lizzie ?” 

“ Lizzie is not affected in any way, I be- 


1 84 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

lieve. You know she had a much lighter 
attack than either of the others.” 

“ You had better keep Willie home from 
school altogether for a while, and prevent 
him as much as possible from using his 
eyes. An oculist must see him imme- 
diately. It is too great an affliction — ” 

Do you think he will be blind, father?” 
asked Maggie, hastily. 

That was something which she had never 
anticipated. Indeed, the whole matter was 
of much more importance, it seemed, than 
she had thought. 

“ I hope not — I trust not,” replied her 
father, with a fervor unusual to him, whose 
voice was usually calm and even as his 
temper. “ But it seems to me that in the 
world that surrounds us with so much 
beauty it is one of the greatest afflictions 
to be in any degree unable to perceive this 
beauty. Even a weakness of the eyes ren- 


WILLIE. 


185 


ders us less capable of pleasure ; and total 
blindness — Oh no ! I do not think it will 
be so bad as that. Still, we must be very- 
careful, for there is no telling how it may 
result. But be very careful how you speak 
to him about it ; even if it should be per-’ 
manent, let him be hopeful to the last 
moment.” 

Maggie lay awake a long time that night 
thinking of Willie and the threatened dan- 
ger. It would be harder to bear for him, 
if it came to the worst, than it would have 
been for herself. 

^ “ It seems that a boy needs his sight more 
than a girl does,” she said to herself. 

Somehow or other — I will not attempt to 
explain why it was, but it certainly was a 
fact — things were always worse for other 
people than they would have been for Mag- 
gie. She could have borne so many more 

troubles than fell to her lot, and they would 
16 * 


1 86 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

not have been so bad for her as they were 
for their respective bearers. 

They had finished breakfast the next 
morning, and, contrary to his usual custom 
of leaving the house directly after, Mr. 
Pollard had seated himself by the dining- 
room window. 

Come here, Willie,” he said ; “ let me 
take a good look at you.” 

The boy came toward his father, smiling 
at the words, and stood by his knee, looking 
into his face. The father gazed long and 
earnestly at his son, whose dark eyes were 
fixed upon him. 

“You are facing the light: does it hurt 
your eyes ?” 

“Yes, sir; I have to keep winking all the 
time. I can’t help it. The teacher scolds 
me for it sometimes.” 

“ I want you to go down town with me 
this morning.” 


WILLIE. 187 

“And not to go to school?” he asked, 
with some surprise. 

“ No ; you are not to go to school to-day 
— perhaps hot for some time.” 

“ If weVe absent much, we won’t get put 
up : teacher said so,” said Willie, earnestly. 

“ Never mind about the putting up part. 
I want the doctor to see your eyes, and he 
may say that you must rest them for a little 
while.” 

Down town to the oculist’s office they 
went. 

“ Oh yes,” said the doctor ; “ he’ll soon 
be all right. There isn’t so much the matter 
with his eyes, only — ” and he rattled off 
something which he intended to be ex- 
tremely lucid, but which frightened Willie 
very much, and which I will not attempt to 
repeat. Whether Mr. Pollard understood it 
or not I do not know ; I suppose he did, for 
he began to look less anxious. 


1 88 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

Must I stay home from school?” asked 
Willie, doubtfully. 

“ Oh yes ; your eyes must have a good 
rest. You must not look at a book, or any- 
thing of the kind, until I say you may.” 

Willie looked disappointed. His father 
had only said, “ The doctor may say so,” 
and he had hoped that he would not. If 
he had to stay from school for a long time, 
he would not be promoted when his class 
was, and that would be just the same as be- 
ing put down into the second class. He told 
his father his grievances as they walked away 
from the doctor’s office, and was told : 

“Well, Willie, we must be glad it is no 
worse. I was afraid it was more serious 
than it is.” 

“ How could it be worse, father ?” asked 
the boy, to whom the non-promotion that 
threatened seemed the greatest of earthly 
ills. 


WILLIE. 


189 


“ Would it not be worse to be altogether 
blind, without any hope of ever being able 
to see again ?” 

“Yes; but then I ain’t blind, you see,” 
was the answer, meant to be a convincing 
argument. 

Perhaps it was, for Mr. Pollard made no 
reply, and they walked on in silence. 

Some time passed. 

“ It is a little deeper-seated,” said the doc- 
tor, “ than it appeared to be at first. I fear 
there will be some trouble about it.” 

Whenever he looked at Willie’s eyes his 
face was very grave. At last the sentence 
came. For some time he had been coming 
to the house, advising that Willie be kept in 
a rather dark room during the day. Mag- 
gie, as usual, accompanied him to the door, 
but, instead of bidding her a hasty “ Good- 
day,” as was his custom, he turned to her: 


190 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ It is a pretty serious case.” 

Maggie’s face grew pale, but she asked 
with a steady voice, 

Do you think it will be a permanent 
affection, then ?” 

“ I do not think there is much chance of 
his recovery, or, indeed, of his not getting 
any worse. He will be blind in a short 
time.” 

He spoke very calmly as he stood before 
her carefully fitting on his gloves, and Mag- 
gie wondered if he knew what he was say- 
ing; she did not see how he could say such 
a thing so coolly. 

' He bowed himself out, and Maggie went 
back to the darkened sitting-room. Her 
duties were onerous now, for Willie must 
be amused, and could do nothing to enter- 
tain himself during the livelong day. 

‘‘You left the door half open when you 
went out,” he said, sharply, as she came in. 


WILLIE. 


191 


“ Did I ?” she asked, in reply. “ That does 
not make any difference in warm weather like 
this, does it ?” 

“ I heard what the doctor said to you out 
in the hall,” he went on, in the same tone. 

She looked at him pityingly. She had no 
words with which to express her love and 
sympathy. 

He turned away from her — a very child in 
years, yet trying manfully to bear his afflic- 
tion. His voice had been sharp, his manner 
ungracious, because he feared he would break 
down in the midst of his sentence. It was 
a piteous sight to see him trying to control 
himself — trying “ to be a man ” — for all the 
trouble he had to bear. 

But he had hardly turned from her before 
she felt what he thought — that she did not 
care so much for it, or she would speak to 
him, comfort him. She sat down beside him 
on the lounge and, putting one arm around 


192 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE, 

him, drew him close to her and kissed his 
forehead : 

“ Did you think I did not care, Willie?” 

But, quick to grow angry and quick to for- 
give and repent, he already regretted having 
given way to such thoughts of his dear, good 
sister, who did so much for him ; and, asham- 
ed of his suspicions, he answered her : 

“ I did at the very first, but of course you 
do.” 

In his voice there was a heartiness that 
said more than his words, and Maggie was 
satisfied : 

^ ” Maybe, Willie, it will not be so, after all ; 
the doctors cannot always tell, you know. 
Let us hope that he is in error.” 

“ But he knows such a lot about it,”' said 
Willie, in a tone expressive of considerable 
awe at the doctor’s acquirements. “ People 
that know so much don’t make mistakes, do 
they ?” 


WILLIE. 


193 


“ Oh yes,” answered Maggie, with cheerful 
confidence; “anybody is liable to commit 
mistakes — some, of course, more than others. 
Now, mind, I only say that Dr. Allen may be 
in error, not that he is. Let us pray that he 
is, Willie.” 

Maggie, the Bible says that if we have 
faith we can move mountains, doesn’t it?” 

“ Yes : ‘If ye have faith as a grain of mus- 
tard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, 
Remove hence to yonder place ; and it shall 
remove; and nothing shall be impossible 
unto you.’ ” 

“ Do you suppose,” asked he, thought- 
fully, “ that anybody ever did move a moun- 
tain by just praying about it?” 

“ I do not know ; we have no history of 
anything of the kind, so I suppose no one 
ever did. But harder things have been 
done in that way.” 

“How could anything be harder? A 
17 N 


194 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

mountain’s awful big, ain’t it ? How much 
would one weigh ?” 

“ Tons and tons,” answered Maggie, in- 
definitely. ” But there are harder things to 
do.' Think of all that missionaries have 
done.” 

“ Oh, but they did more than pray : they 
went to other countries and preached to the 
heathen. I mean this : Do you think, if 1 
was to pray right hard, and keep on believ- 
ing all the time, that God would keep me 
from being blind ?” 

“ I do not know,” answered Maggie, quietly. 

“You ‘do not know’!” This was said in 
the utmost astonishment. ” Why — y — y, 
don’t you believe what the Bible says, 
sister?” 

“ Of course I do ; but God does not al- 
ways answer our prayers as w^e would like : 
he answers them in the way that is best for 
us. If that were not so, we would not have 


WILLIE. 


95 


to pray ‘Thy will be done.’ He may see 
that it is best for you to be blind all your 
life; and if that is so, he will not answer 
your prayer as you would wish, but will do 
so by making you resigned to the affliction 
he sends upon you.” 

“ I never could be resigned to being blind 
all my life.” 

” The mountains could be moved if people 
worked long enough, could they not?” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“Then is not learning to be resigned to 
God’s will sometimes harder than moving 
mountains ?” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ But the moving of the mountains only 
stands for something very hard to do, and 
the text really means that faith can do any- 
thing; so let us pray that God will restore 
your sight if it be his will, or else help you 
to bear it cheerfully.” 


196 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ I never can.” 

Now you are as bad as the old lady who 
read this verse and then prayed that the 
hill near her house would be moved. She 
got up off her knees and looked out of the 
window. There was the hill, and she said, 
‘ I just knew it wouldn’t be moved.’ Do 
you not see you will not pray as you ought? 
Try to have faith, Willie. Every time you 
pray, you will more and more believe that 
God will do what is best.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A CHANGE. 

ILLIE’S sight failed steadily through 



the summer ; and when the fall came, 


he was totally, hopelessly blind. 

Maggie’s patience was sorely tried that 
summer. 

“ I don’t know what to do ; the days are 
so long! Won’t you tell me something 
to do?” 

Maggie taxed her ingenuity to the utmost 
to find occupation and amusement for him. 
To be sure, Jack and Lizzie lent a helping 
hand, but Willie would often send thefn pet- 
tishly from him, declaring that sister was 
worth a dozen of them ; so on Maggie fell 
that burden, as did so many others. 


198 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

“ I can’t go to school, I can’t do anything 
at home, I can’t work ; I never can do any- 
thing. What do blind people do with them- 
selves, anyhow, sister ? Ain’t they always 
shut up in asylums like crazy people and 
orphans ?” 

“ There are a great many asylums for the 
blind—” 

“Are you going to put me in one?” he 
cried, his voice sharp with terror. An asy- 
lum was a dreadful thing, he had no doubt. 

“ Most of them are schools, or have schools 
connected with them,” said Maggie, quietly 
ignoring his question. She and her father 
had discussed the subject, and had concluded 
to send Willie to such a school ; but she saw 
he must be won over to the plan by teach- 
ing him that there was no necessary connec- 
tion between asylum's for the blind and those 
for the insane. 

“ ‘Schools’ !” echoed Willie, incredulously. 


A CHANGE. 


199 


“ How can you learn anything if you can’t 
see ?” 

Have you never learned anything but 
what you have seen?” 

“ No,” answered Willie, boldly. 

“ Did you never learn verses from the 
Bible and hymns, and pieces of poetry be- 
fore you could read ?” 

“ Oh yes ; but then they’re not hard to 
learn, like spelling and arithmetic and geog- 
raphy. You get to know such things, any- 
how.” 

“You think so because you cannot re- 
member when you did not know some. 
But do you not know how the blind see ?” 

“ People who can see ain’t blind,” he an- 
swered, slowly. 

“ They see with their ears and the tips of 
their fingers.” 

Then she told him of the wonderful pa- 
tience with which good men had tried to 


200 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


alleviate the misfortune of others; how long 
they had worked before they had succeeded , 
in perfecting a plan by which the blind could 
be taught to read, the deaf to speak. She 
told him of Laura Bridgman, without a single 
perfect sense and completely deprived of sight 
and hearing, and of Huber, whose patience 
conquered his blindness and made him a 
famous naturalist. She ransacked her mem- 
ory for examples of perseverance crowned by 
success after almost incredible difficulties. 

Willie listened resignedly : it was some- 
thing to be amused, if only by things that he 
privately suspected were only half true ; but, 
for all Maggie’s persuasions, he would not 
consent to go to any school for the blind. 
They were asylums, and in his own mind 
he was not sure that he would not have to 
associate with the insane. 

“ We had better not force him to go, Meg,” 
said Mr. Pollard ; for neither of them, of 


A CHANGE. 


201 


course, had any idea of his suspicions. “ He 
is naturally very sensitive about it now, and 
dislikes to go where he will meet strangers : 
it is not pleasant to be an object of universal 
pity, you know. After a while that will wear 
off, and he will not mind it so much, but for 
the present we must humor the poor child a 
little.” 

“ Could not I teach him at home ?” asked 
Maggie. “ He would be so much happier if 
he could do more for himself. I am glad, of 
course, to do all I can to entertain him, and 
Jack and Lizzie are as good as they can be 
about it; but I know the time passes very 
slowly for him at the best, and he would 
like it better if he were less dependent on 
others.” 

“ It would be no easy matter for you,” said 
Mr. Pollard, doubtfully. 

“ I suppose not. Do you think it would 
be impossible ?” 


202 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“ ' Nothing shall be impossible unto you,’ ” 
quoted Mr. Pollard, thinking of all the tasks 
that she had so cheerfully undertaken. 

“ Of course I would have first to learn the 
mode of writing myself. Do they use the 
ordinary alphabet, only raised ?” 

“ I believe not — that is, here. He ought 
to be taught the same system that is in use 
in the school to which he will probably go as 
soon as he will consent to go to any. I will 
find out what that is and how you can learn 
it.” 

So Maggie set herself to work to help 
Willie — the hardest task she had yet had, 
for he was impatient and exacting and she 
had no time to herself. Sometimes she an- 
swered hastily, as she was apt to do ; but she 
repented before the words were fully uttered, 
and by every means in her power tried to 
atone for her fault. 

But the close confinement told upon her, 


A CHANGE. 


203 


and she fell ill. Then Willie’s grief was 
piteous. 

“ I worried her sick — I know I did,” he 
declared to his father. “ But I did not mean 
to do it ; I never once thought of it. And I 
tried to be patient, but, somehow or other, I 
could not be.” 

It is not the worriment, Willie; she has 
caught a very bad cold, and will soon be 
well.” 

But, despite his reassuring manner, Mr. 
Pollard did not feel at all easy about Mag- 
gie. He knew that the cold would not have 
affected her so much if naturally she had 
been as strong as he would have wished, 
although something must be allowed for her 
being so completely worn out by her long 
attendance upon Willie. 

It was two weeks before she came down 
stairs again, pale and thin and weak. It 
may be believed that she had no reason to 


204 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

complain of her welcome back to the table 
and to the fireside. 

“ It hasn’t been home at all with you sick, 
Pe^gy,” asserted Jack. 

“ Sally’s been awful cross,” complained 
Lizzie. 

“ I’ve been so lonely and good for noth- 
ing !” said Willie. 

“ Seems like nothin’ didn’t go right. Miss 
Maggie, and everybody got into such bad 
humors,” said Sally. 

Mr. Pollard said nothing, but he thought 
of what the doctor had told him — that Mag- 
gie must never think of undertaking any work 
which would expose her to hardship or con- 
fine her very closely. 

“ Do not let her sew or do very much 
studying or reading. If you would take a 
house a short distance out of the city,” the 
physician had said, “ where she could garden 
and live a good deal in the open air, it would 


A CHANGE. 205 

be a good thing — the best thing you could do 
for her.” 

“ For a long time she has wished to be- 
come a missionary ; I think she is only wait- 
ing until her duties at home will permit her 
to go.” 

“ Do you intend to allow it ?” 

“ I refused my consent when she first spoke 
of it, but I have thought of it a great deal ; 
and when she is old enough fully to under- 
stand what she is doing, I shall raise no ob- 
jection, unless—” 

If she goes, she will live just about six 
months. It would be but little short of 
suicide.” 

“Then she shall not go.” 

“ It would be just as well, however, not to 
tell her your reason. Impress upon her the 
necessity of being careful of her own health, 
but in general terms. People often worry 
themselves into diseases.” 


1$ 


2o6 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

A great surprise awaited Maggie when she 
became stronger. 

“ Meg, I have about determined that we 
had better move. What do you think of 
it ?” 

“ ‘ Move,’ father ? Leave this house?” 

“ We could not very well do it without 
leaving this house. I think it would be 
better to get a place a little distance in the 
country, where we could have a garden and 
keep a horse and cow. You could have 
flowers then to your heart’s content.” 

“ But, father, why do you want to move ?” 

“ Well, I think it would be better for many 
reasons. For one thing, if Willie could live 
out of doors more, he would be more cheer- 
ful ; and that would influence his health 
favorably. Shall we go in the spring?” 

“ If you wish it and think it would be 
best,” replied she, smothering a sigh. 

The dear old home ! She could remember 


A CHANGE. 


207 


no Other, she could imagine no other on 
earth. Around these four walls in the midst 
of the great city clung a thousand associa- 
tions, crowning the plain house with beauty 
as the foliage crowns the rough brown trunk 
of the tree. Ay, these recollections were 
above the mere building, for some of them 
were linked with heaven. 

“ But if it will do Willie any good, of 
course we must go. I will not say any- 
thing about disliking to leave the old house, 
for it might make father feel badly. I do 
not suppose he likes to go any more than 
I do.” 

“ I should have thought she could have 
objected to leaving the old home,” said Mr. 
Pollard to himself when the change was an 
accomplished fact and Maggie had betrayed 
no sign of dissatisfaction. “ Oh, well ! young 
people easily forget, and are always re^dy for 
a change.” 


208 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

The new home was a happy one. It seemed 
as if all trouble had come to them in the old 
hoqse — that henceforward their lives were to 
be blessed, like Job’s old age. Here, in the 
new home, they liv^ed the quiet, happy life of 
a Christian family whose souls have been 
purified by the chastening of the Lord who 
loves them. Trial, temptation, sin, were not 
banished, of course : they never are ; but the 
trial was cheerfully borne, the temptation 
faithfully resisted, the sin repented of. Who 
can say more of any man’s happine.ss ? 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A MISSIONAR Y AT LAST. 

M y dear friend : I should like 

to continue to call you such, and to 
think of you as such, notwithstanding- the 
contents of the letter received from you 
yesterday and the answer which I must 
give you. 

“ If I have, as you say, encouraged you to 
believe that at some future time I would be 
your wife, the behavior which you so un- 
derstood was never so meant. We have 
known each other all our lives; the friend- 
ly intercourse between us has been inter- 
rupted only by your absence at college 

and, for the past year, in your new home. 
18 « 0 209 


210 


MAGGIE POLLARD S SACRIFICE. 


I had never thought of you as anything 
nearer than a friend. 

“ I am not free to marry, nor shall I be for 
some time; I have duties which I cannot 
neglect, the existence of which you will not 
question. 

“ More than this, when Lizzie is old enough 
to assume these duties, there is another work 
awaiting me which I am longing to undertake. 
Five years ago, when I was but fifteen, I re- 
solved to dedicate myself to that most glo- 
rious work of the Christian — spreading the 
light of the gospel among the heathen. Had 
circumstances permitted, I should have en- 
tered upon it immediately, but there were 
more immediate duties for me to perform : 
I had to fill, as far as possible, my mother’s 
place to the younger children. 

“ I feel sure that you will not endeavor to 
dissuade me from obeying the call which I 
believe I have received to enter upon the 


A MISSIONARY AT LAST. 


21 


missionary’s life. As soon as I can I 
shall go. 

“Acknowledging, as you must, that it is my 
duty to make the sacrifice which I have so 
long desired to make, you cannot urge me 
to give you a different answer. I sincerely 
hope that you may very soon choose more 
happily and more wisely. 

“ Your true friend, 

“ Maggie Pollard.” 

“ Dear Sir : Maggie has told me of the 
letter which she received from you, and has 
shown me her answer. While, under ordi- 
nary circumstances, I would not meddle in 
such affairs, I think my promise to further 
your suit by every means in my power binds 
me to give you a little truer insight into the 
state of things than Maggie herself has done. 

“For more than four years her life has 
been a series of sacrifices of her own pleas- 


212 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


ures and inclinations. I have often regretted 
this, but could do nothing to prevent it ; and 
it has all been done so cheerfully that those 
most benefited have often lost sight of her 
unselfishness, regarding it as a matter of 
course. But I do not wish it to continue 
so ; there is no reason why Lizzie cannot 
take her place in the house if she should 
marry. 

“To her missionary plans I shall never 
consent. I cannot tell how far she may 
have inherited hisr mother’s weak constitu- 
tion, but I fear an unwholesome climate and 
physical hardships would soon develop dis- 
ease. It would be suicidal for her to at- 
tempt anything of the kind. 

“ Is not your work, to some extent, of the 
mission character? (I know the Home Mis- 
sion Board contributes to your salary.) Con- 
vince her of this, and she will marry you. 

“ Write to her, or come if you can, which 


A MISSIONARY AT LAST. 


213 


will be the better course. With sincere hopes 
for your ultimate success, I am 

“ Very truly your friend, 

“John C. Pollard.” 

These were the two letters which the Rev. 
Edward Norton received one summer morn- 
ing, and which lay open before him for a long 
time as he sat at his desk in the little adobe 
house which formed his dwelling. He was 
the young pastor of a struggling church lo- 
cated in a little town of New Mexico, and 
had been there just one year. During that 
whole time the truth of the statement that 
“ it is not good for man to be alone ” had 
become more patent every day, and at last 
he had written, first to Mr. Pollard, then to 
Maggie herself. 

Receiving the two letters, he had eagerly 
broken the seal of Maggie’s. Perhaps he 
wished to devote more time to her father’s ; 


214 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

certainly he did do so. It lay open on the 
desk before him for a long time. At last he 
folded it carefully, put it in his pocket, took 
his hat and went out. 

“ Our preacher is a city man,” said Mrs. 
Gray to Mrs. White, a few days afterward. 

Mrs. White looked inquiringly at her. 

“Yes; he wants a vacation, like the city 
ministers have. He’s to take a month.” 

He had really obtained a month’s vacation, 
and proceeded straight to St. Louis. The 
first intimation that Maggie had of this was 
the announcement: 

” Mr. Norton’s in the parlor and wants to 
see you.” 

Into the parlor she went, an unusual flush 
on her cheek, a new light in her eye — pret- 
tier than ever; so, at least, thought the 
visitor. 

“You see, I have answered your letter in 


A MISSIONARY AT LAST. 


215 


person,” he said, smiling, as he rose and put 
out his hand. 

He had extended his hand : what could 
Maggie do but give hers? But he need not 
to have retained possession of it as he drew 
her toward the sofa. 

“ I— I did — didn’t expect any answer,” 
faltered Maggie, and immediately felt she 
had been extremely rude. 

“ I suppose not ; but, you see, I was not 
satisfied with the answer you gave me.” 

“ I told you in the letter,” began Maggie, 
turning very pale, that — ” 

Here she paused. Poor fellow ! he did 
look so anxious ! 

' “Are you willing to begin your missionary 
work right away ?” 

“ I cannot yet, until Lizzie is a little older,” 
answered Maggie, very much relieved and 
very much ashamed. Perhaps he had not 
intended, after all, to urge her to marry him, 


2I6 MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 

but merely wanted to help her consummate 
her missionary plans. 

“ Do you not think that objection is rather 
a forced one ?” asked he, very gravely. “ Liz- 
zie is as old as you were when you took 
charge of everything: is she less capable 
than you were at her age?” 

‘‘ No, but — ” Maggie hesitated for a mo- 
ment; she could not find words to say ex- 
actly what she meant. Then she went on : 
“ It is a hard life for a young girl. I did not 
mind it so much, for it came to me at moth- 
er’s death; and I had neglected so many du- 
ties, had left so much to her that I could 
have done, and I was in so much trouble, 
that — that it was altogether different, you 
see, from what it would be for Lizzie.” 

“ But you have chosen this work : have 
you any right to leave it, when only this 
consideration for Lizzie’s ease and pleasure 
calls you from it ?” 


A MISSIONARY AT LAST. 21/ 

Her face flushed : 

“ I have always considered the children as 
a sacred charge, and as long as they need me 
I cannot leave them. You judge me wrongly 
if you think I do not wish to go. Ever since 
the time when I first formed the plan I have 
looked eagerly forward to the day when I 
should sever every earthly tie and devote 
myself to that work.” 

Mr. Norton answered nothing, and Mag- 
gie went on : 

“ I give myself as willingly as Abraham 
sacrificed Isaac.” 

“ But he did not sacrifice his son, you 
know.” 

Maggie cast an indignant, contemptuous 
glance upon her visitor. Such sophistry! 

“ It was the intention,” she said, speaking 
very slowly and softly, to avoid an angry 
tone ; “ he would have done it cheerfully 
if—” 


19 


2I8 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


“ If a ram had not been substituted by 
Him to whom the sacrifice was to be offered. 
Maggie, you are too closely connected with 
this world by the bonds of duty to sever 
them in this way. You have no more right 
to go as a foreign missionary, even in five 
years from now, than your mother would 
have if she were alive. There are too many 
duties awaiting you which no one can per- 
form as well as you can.” 

” I do not see the connection between your 
text and your sermon,” she answered, laugh- 
ing that she might the better be able to re- 
frain from tears ; for she felt how hard it 
would be to sever the ties that bound her 
to home and to — to — Well, to her father, 
for instance. 

“You propose to sacrifice yourself upon 
the altar of foreign missions just as Abraham 
expected to sacrifice Isaac; but the youth was 
needed for other things, and so are you. 


A MISSIONARY AT LAST. 


219 


Your father needs you : he cannot see you 
kill yourself by daring the very disease of 
which your mother died. Jack needs your 
sisterly help : better than any one else you 
can keep him strong to resist the temptations 
that beset a young man. Lizzie needs you : 
have you never felt your motherlessness ?” 

“ Often— often !” answered Maggie, in a 
tremulous tone. 

“What would blind Willie do without the 
sister whose eyes are his ?” 

Considerable affection for Willie — or some- 
body — was expressed by his face and voice. 

“You think, then,” asked Maggie, slowly, 
“that I ought not to go?” 

“ I think that you ought not to go as a for- 
eign missionary,” answered he, very seriously 
and positively. 

Maggie looked at him inquiringly, and he 
went on : 

“But there is an opportunity for you to 


220 


MAGGIE pollard’s SACRIFICE. 


become a home missionary in a small town 
in New Mexico ; and if you prefer to deal 
with the dark-colored races, there is an 
Indian reservation not very far off.” 

“ I thought you were in earnest,” replied 
Maggie, in a vexed tone; “I did not think 
you would joke about such things.” 

“ I am in earnest,” said the young man. 
“ Do you not see, Maggie, how much 
stronger is your call to home duties than 
to foreign-missionary work ?” 

“ I do not see just how I am to fulfil those 
duties in New Mexico,” she answered, saucily. 

“ Take Willie along and write often to the 
others — oftener than you could from India or 
the Sandwich Islands,” he suggested. “ See 
here : I wish you would read this letter.” 

Maggie read the letter which he handed to 
her : it was her father’s. With shining eyes 
she looked into his face as she handed it 
back to him and said. 


A MISSIONARY AT LAST. 


221 


“ Indeed, Edward, father is blinded by his 
love for me. I have made no sacrifices; I 
have never had the opportunity to do so.” 

“ Haven’t you ?” he asked, with a smile. 

” No ; and now you prevent me from ever 
making any.” 

So Maggie never became a foreign mis- 
sionary, and she never realized that she had 
made any sacrifices ; but her desire was ful- 
filled, for her husband’s work was mainly of 
the kind in which she had for so long wished 
to engage. 

I didn’t think Mr. Norton was going to 
the States to be married, did you ?” asked 
Mrs. Gray of Mrs. White. 

“ No ; he kept it very quiet. His wife’s 
blind brother came with them. The mother’s 
dead, and she’s the oldest of the family, I 
believe.” 

“Yes, and another brother is coming out 
ly 


222 MAGGIE POLLARD’s SACRIFICE. 

here to be sub-foreman in the railway ma- 
chine-shops. The other sister stays to keep 
house for the father.” 

“ The blind boy seems to be right fond 
of her.” 

“Yes; I imagine she’s been a real mother 
to him.” 

“ Is that young Pollard that’s in the shops 
her brother ?” 

“ That’s his name. Has he come already ?” 

“ Yes ; got here yesterday. They say he’s 
a very good workman and will yet make his 
mark as an inventor. One thing, he’s per- 
fectly steady and sober — no bad habits.” 


THE END. 






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